Shades of Resonance: Emotional Scars - Memory Log #49

Castlevania 64

It was finally happening: At long last, the Castlevania series was set to make its jump into the realm of three dimensions. Soon the Belmonts would be joining Mario, Link, Mega Man, Snake, Bomberman, and the rest of gaming's pioneers in the space in which revolutionary change was possible and decades-old video-game series could reinvent themselves and forge bold new legacies.

As someone whose skepticism toward the industry's shift to 3D was completely washed away by the illuminating power of mind-blowing works like Super Mario 64 and The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, I should have been ecstatic that one of my all-time-favorite series was about to make its transition into the world of 3D, where it, too, could find the potential to zealously reinvent its formulas and reestablish itself as a powerhouse.

But I wasn't. In fact, Nintendo Power Volume 104's announcement that a new Castlevania game (the plainly titled "Castlevania," to which I'll refer as Castlevania 64, its christened title, to avoid confusion) was coming to the N64 failed to evoke from me a single positive emotion. I didn't even care to closely examine the screenshots.

Nothing depicted in that in that magazine preview aroused the slightest bit of interest from me.

Because the truth was that I'd moved away from the Castlevania series over the previous four-year period. I could say that I did so because I felt burned by Castlevania: Dracula X, but that wouldn't be accurate. It was only part of the reason. The reality was that I started to fall out of love with the series even before then.

I don't remember when, exactly, my passion for the series waned, and my self-reflection on the matter doesn't provide me any satisfactory answers (though, I can point to my anger about Castlevania: Bloodlines being announced as a Genesis exclusive and Mega Man X stealing my heart as contributing factors); but the fact was that it did wane at some point, and consequently the Castlevania series no longer held the same allure for me.

Oh, believe me: I wanted to be excited about Castlevania 64. I wanted desperately for some amazingly transformative Castlevania game to come along and reignite my passion for the series.

But I wasn't hopeful that such a thing would happen. Because Castlevania: Dracula X had sent me a clear message that Konami no longer saw the series as one that was worthy of its best efforts. So even though I felt that my contemporaries were being too cynical when they deemed that Castlevania 64 was going to be nothing more than "3D Mario with a whip-wielding hero," I was hesitant to raise an objection to what they were saying because I simply couldn't put any faith in the idea that the game's development was being driven by some sort of grand ambition on Konami's part. Recent history told me that I'd come out looking like a fool if I decided to place that level of trust in the company.

So I refrained from getting involved in the conversation.

And after engaging in a lot of introspection, I came to the conclusion that I didn't need to own Castlevania 64. "It'll probably disappoint me," I thought.

So I tuned it out: I stopped following coverage of the game, I ceased talking about it with my AOL buddies, and I denied it any further mental space.

Resultantly, it seemed, I was looking toward a future in which Castlevania was no longer part of my life.

That's not how it worked out, of course. And you probably know where the story went from there.

Honestly, I'm not really sure why, ultimately, I decided to purchase Castlevania 64 on that February day in 1999. It could have been that I'd finished all of my Christmas games by that time and needed something new to play. Or maybe I caved to a haunting sense of obligation that was telling me that I'd be a turncoat if I failed to support a game with "Castlevania" in its title. Or perhaps it was a decision that I made merely on impulse during the start of a familiar scene: My brother, James, was about to head out to our local Electronics Boutique to buy some new games, and he asked me if there were any games that I'd like for him to pick up for me.

I was never one to pass up such an opportunity, after all, so I handed him some money and told him to grab me a copy of Castlevania 64. But I don't remember if any premeditation went into my request.

The only thing that I remember for sure is that I wasn't confident in my decision. I was left with no choice but to cling to the hope that the game would surprise me and justify its high price.

When James arrived home, he saw that his friend Ricky was standing near our front steps and invited him in. The two of them came in from the front entrance (which was unusual because James and his friends usually entered through the side door, which led down to James' basement domain) and promptly walked over to my hangout: the den. I'd been waiting there patiently.

When, seconds later, James pulled the game out of the bag, Ricky saw the title that was displayed on its cover and took an immediate interest in it. "Yo! Castlevania!" he expressed with genuine astonishment. Because, as he told me, he had no idea that the series was still getting new games.

He then requested that I allow him to have the first crack at it. "Before you play it," he said, "can I give it a try?"

I was a huge sap, so naturally there was no way that I was going to deny his request. And because I wasn't in that much of a rush to play the game, anyway, I didn't see any harm in stepping aside for a few minutes and watching him mess around in the game's earliest stages.

I was sensitive to spoilers, sure, but in that moment, I wasn't going to let anything deter me from staying in that den and keeping my eyes on things. Because I was also a paranoid nutball, and consequently I felt inclined to monitor Ricky's activity and make sure that he didn't touch any of my stuff! I mean, there wasn't much left of my G.I. Joe action figures (because of how I'd spent the previous years tossing them into the ceiling fan), no, but still, their severed arms and legs were sentimental to me, and I didn't want anyone screwing around with them!

So I stayed there and watched Ricky play the game.

And in its opening minutes, Castlevania 64 looked promising. One moment in particular really grabbed our attention: a cool scene in which lightning struck a tree and sent it crashing to the ground in a fiery wreck. The sudden violent impact of the unanticipated blast caused Ricky and I to recoil in shock. And as we shook off the feeling of fright, we looked toward each other and agreed that this occurrence had made for a memorable first impression.

I, personally, was intrigued by the game's desire to surprise the player, and I hoped that what I saw was indicative of what the rest of the game contained.

But before long, my mood began to change. Because the more I watched Ricky play through the forest stage, the more I sensed that something wasn't quite right with this game.

The first worrying sign was the stage's visual presentation. When I more closely observed its environments and their textures, I couldn't help but feel that they were bland-looking and lifeless in character. The stage's separate areas were so indistinct, in fact, that they simply blended together to form an unattractive gray-and-brown mass. Also, the skeleton enemies and their giant club-wielding comrade were generically designed and exhibited little to no personality.

"This isn't a particularly great-looking game," I thought to myself.

Also, concerningly, it appeared that Reinhardt's jumps were shaky and unreliable. Watching how he maneuvered through the air made me believe that he was the type who got out of control really easily.

And I was painfully aware of the fact that Ricky was continuing to struggle with the camera's movement. He couldn't get it to do anything that he wanted it to do. Resultantly he stumbled and bumbled his way through the stage's mundane environments, and all the while, he had a look on his face that said, "Why did I ask to play this game again?"

As I watched all of this occur, I had a sinking feeling. "Something's wrong here," I thought.

I really wanted to reserve judgment until I could play the game for myself and see more of it, but it was hard for me to ignore what I'd observed and disabuse myself of the notion that the game's presentation and vibe spoke of a second-rate production.

So after perplexedly wandering around for another ten minutes or so and failing to find whichever mechanism unlocked the stage's obstructive gate, Ricky gave up. He'd had enough. As he handed me the controller and prepared to retreat to the basement with James, he did his best to conceal his bewilderment. In that moment, the only thing that he could think to do was offer me a feigned thanks for my providing him the opportunity to have this wonderful experience. (I believe that his parting comment was something along the lines of, "T-thanks, man!" That was very, um, 'interesting.'")

Having witnessed those disastrous 15 minutes of gameplay, I had no desire to pick up where he left off. Instead I immediately switched off the N64 and decided to come back to Castlevania 64 later on if not the next day--after I had the time to digest whatever it was that I just saw.

The toughest part was finding the motivation to return to Castlevania 64. I kept telling myself that it was unfair to judge the entire game on the basis of a single poorly received sampling of its action and that great things would happen if I were to give the game a chance to fully flex its muscles. I also considered the possibility that it might have had an interesting story to tell. "And maybe," I thought, "the explosive lightning-strike scene was a harbinger that were many other can't-miss surprises to come!"

But it wasn't working. I wasn't able to trick myself into believing that it was a good idea to downplay what I'd seen. Even when I envisioned the rosiest scenario imaginable, I simply couldn't quell my sense that something about the game was terribly amiss. So I decided that the only thing that I could do was force myself to play it.

And when I did, all of my fears were quickly realized: The Forest of Illusion--with its inexplicably designed, uninspired labyrinth of switches and gates--was every bit as tedious as it looked when I watched Ricky attempt to traverse it ("Castlevania isn't supposed to be about mundane activities like pushing switches!" I thought to myself in an annoyed manner). The indistinguishable environments, with their unvaried textures, exacerbated the feeling of mundanity. The combat was slow and clunky. And the camera was uncooperative and rendered platforming a maddening exercise.

I can't understate just how bad the camera system was. It had a seriously disruptive effect on the action. It prevented me from being able to reliably make jumps or even line them up properly. So the most likely outcome of any jump attempt would be my plunging into the deadly liquid below as the result of the camera unexpectedly and unpreventably shifting right as I left the ground.

As I stated in my review of Castlevania 64: I was prepared to permanently abandon the game halfway through the very first stage because of how much I disliked the camera system. It was so bad that it had the ability to make even the simplest platforming segments feel extremely harrowing!

"Why is this game so dull and unimaginative?" I wondered during my dozenth go-around of switch-flipping and unintended high-diving. "Isn't it supposed to be that designers seek to wow you in the earliest moments of their first 3D creations--showcase their unbridled creative spirit and exhibit for us the advancements that have been made possible by new technology?"

Super Mario 64 invited us to acrobatically leap our way across the most fantastical 3D environments we'd ever seen! Star Wars: Shadow of the Empire had us flying around and traversing awe-inspiring locales that looked as though they were ripped directly from The Empire Strikes Back! And The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time allowed us to explore the most amazingly expansive overworld that had ever appeared in a video game!

"So why, then," I questioned while in an angry state, "does Castlevania 64, an entry in a series that has proven its ability to match the best of its contemporaries in sheer quality, have me running around flipping switches and fighting blandly designed enemies within the confines of a visually uninteresting, generically constructed set of cramped corridors?"

It didn't make any sense to me. "Where's the ambition?" I wondered. "What happened to the company that used to regularly produce visually stunning, impressively designed action games?"

The only thing that the company was showcasing here was an inexplicable lack of imagination. It was presenting a game that was uninspired and just plain boring.

And I used the same type of language to describe the rest of Castlevania 64, through which I plodded only for completion's sake. I suffered through every one of its mind-numbingly labyrinthine stages.

All the while, I enviously dreamed of its visually and aurally brilliant predecessors as I gauged its bland, uninteresting enemies and dull, repetitive environments. I continued to have a miserable time with its unmanageable camera and hatefully designed platforming challenges. And I spent countless minutes just standing there, in a horribly bored state, and waiting in front of specially marked doors that only opened at certain times during a day.

Otherwise, I almost had a mental breakdown as I repeatedly failed to complete a Castle Center challenge that required me to carry a bottle of Nitro down three whole floors and do so without jumping or taking damage. I can't tell you how many times I got cheaply squashed by the third floor's rotating gears even though I was, in each instance, clearly standing in the open space between them!

That entire sequence was a microcosm for Castlevania 64's plodding, madness-inducing pacing problem. It was the game's unapologetic way of advertising its aversion to exciting action. "You remember that cool lightning-strike event back in the Forest of Silence?" it said to me. "Well, that was nothing more than an outlier."

No other scene was as gripping.

Well, that's not exactly true. There was another genuinely engaging event: the Garden Hedge Maze chase, in which I was relentlessly stalked by a chainsaw-armed Frankenstein Gardener (his right arm was literally a chainsaw) and two hellhounds. It was a well-plotted, memorable action scene, and it was packed with intensity and harrowing in a thrilling way. I found it really compelling.

Had the game's designers channeled their energy into creating more scenes like this one--those that entailed dramatic, pulse-pounding action--the game might have had a better chance at being great.

And if I'm giving credit where it's due, I have to acknowledge how well the soundtrack did to provide the game's world complexion and emotional energy. As the game progressed, its music grew more expressive and increasingly atmospheric, and its melancholic tones worked ever-more-diligently to convey the story's tragic nature and the stage environment's gloomy, depressive state.

The music didn't have the power to capture the magic of classic Castlevania games' masterfully composed, amazingly varied soundtracks, no, but still it had a distinctly haunting tone, and it did very well to provide Castlevania 64 markedly unique energy and personality. It was the game's strongest aspect.

Also, the game introduced some memorable characters (among them Charlie Vincent, the seasoned-yet-foolishly-overconfident vampire hunter; Renon, the enigmatic demon salesman; and the tormented vampire Rosa, who desperately sought an escape from her cursed existence) and told a really interesting story (though, I didn't learn of its full scope during my first play-through because I got the bad ending).

So Castlevania 64 did have a few positive qualities.

The game's manual didn't mention anything about the conditions for earning a bad ending, but I knew, right away, that it was the one that I got. Malus' suspicious behavior during the end scene certainly communicated to me the obviousness of my failure. But at that point, I didn't care. I'd seen all that I needed to see from the game, and I had absolutely no desire to play through it again and endure more of same suffering solely for the purpose of witnessing a few alternate (presumably "rewarding") cinematics.

"I can happily live with the idea of never again having to play or hear about Castlevania 64!" I told myself.

And I might have held to that notion had circumstances not dictated that I reconsider.

A few months later, you see, I started building a comprehensive Castlevania fan site, and consequently I put myself in a position in which I was obligated to play through and thoroughly explore each series game and do so for the sake of providing informed, detailed coverage for it. So as much as I dreaded the idea of returning to Castlevania 64, I had no choice but to do so. Otherwise, I felt, I'd be shirking my responsibility.

I knew that I'd have to play Castlevania 64 and earn the good ending if I wanted to acquire the knowledge necessary to fill my site with information that truly reflected its story and its characters' motivations. So I did what was normal for me in these situations: I blocked off an entire Sunday, confined myself to our den, and continued playing the game until it was fully completed. It was an unpleasant experience, as I guessed it would be, but surprisingly not as torturous as my first play-through.

I don't remember why, though, the subsequent play-throughs weren't as painful. It might have been because my newfound motivation worked to shield me from the game's pervasive lethargy, or, more likely, it was probably because I took greater advantage of the all-too-easy access to health items, abusing which helped me to trivialize battles like the final encounter with the enormous Drago, whose chaotic assault could be easily countered by a chicken- and roast-beef-fueled offensive.

All I remember for sure is that I'd never been so relieved to finish a game and be free of the burden of having to complete it out of obligation. "Now," I thought, "I don't ever have to play it again!" (Well, about that...)

My final verdict was that Castlevania 64 was a lost cause. For certain, it failed to take the series to the next level. It simply couldn't. It had neither the heart nor the determination to do so. And the result was that it was, at best, an average action game.

And its inability to rise above average was interpreted by its critics to mean that the Castlevania series just didn't have the moxie that it took to excel in the 3D space. I didn't want to associate with their group and thus give credibility to logical leap they were making, but I couldn't deny that I, too, was having serious doubts about the series' ability to translate well to 3D. The reality might have been, I felt, that Castlevania's most dependable formulas, all of which were born from and cultivated in side-scrolling games whose chief principles prescribed the tactical containment of movement and the displaying of evocative imagery that invited players to imagine what the game world might look like from a first-person perspective, were simply incompatible with 3D gaming.

18 years later, we're still debating this point.

Of course, Castlevania 64's inability to directly translate the series' formulas to 3D didn't have to doom it. It still could have been a successful game. I mean, consider what Super Mario 64 taught us: A series' first 3D entry didn't necessarily have to remain faithful to its predecessors in terms of gameplay and visual style to win our hearts, no. All it had to do, rather, was achieve greatness. And if it did so, we'd happily overlook its disregard for convention and rave about how it changed all of the rules.

Castlevania 64 simply wasn't a great game, and that, more than anything, is the reason why we were so disappointed with it.

I was reminded of that fact every time I returned to Castlevania 64 for the purpose of mining content for my site (which was the only reason that I ever went anywhere near it!). Each time, I suddenly became filled with an overpowering sense of dread as it became apparent to me that my current objective required me to play through more than two of the game's stages. I didn't want to do that.

But I'd always go through with it, anyway, because I knew that for my efforts to be received as sincere, I'd have to push aside the negative feelings and truly dedicate myself to the cause. I'd have to make a real effort to become intimately familiar with the game and master its every fighting mechanic. So that's what I did. And in time, I came to have encyclopedic knowledge of its world, its story, its characters, its items, and its systems, the thought of which was previously unimaginable to me.

Now, I won't lie to you and say that Castlevania 64 grew on me over the years or that it eventually proved itself to be a better game than I thought it was. It didn't. But I can honestly say that I did come to have a greater appreciation for the things that it did well: how it told a compelling story, developed its characters in intriguing ways, and used its emotionally rich music to generate a wonderfully evocative atmosphere.

And as strange as it sounds, I even developed some nostalgic feelings for it!

But that's not really surprising to me. Because, after all, I felt the same way about a lot of late-era N64 games, which were sentimental to me because I saw them as the last of their kind. Those like Castlevania 64 stood as the final creations of uniquely specced, unapologetically dedicated video-game hardware, which, sadly, disappeared as multimedia-focused devices and technological homogeneity became the norm. That's why I was so nostalgic for them.

I tell you, man: I miss those days dearly.

For me, Castlevania 64's legacy was salvaged somewhat by its greatly improved remake: Castlevania: Legacy of Darkness, which I purchased on the cheap through Amazon.com in April of 2001 (I had to settle for cartridge-only because none of the copies on offer had manuals included).

I was honestly surprised at how much I enjoyed playing through Cornell's campaign, which was formed from a combination of newly added stages and refined versions of Castlevania 64's stages. Suddenly, traversing the Forest of Silence was no longer emotionally exhausting trial! It was actually a pleasant experience! And I felt the same way about the other returning stages.

Improved level design, a more-realized weapon system, and overall better content (including Henry's nonlinear rescue mission, which was a fun diversion) helped Legacy of Darkness to attain "pretty good" status, which, while not a huge leap, was still a big step up from Castlevania 64's merely-average standing.

Had Legacy of Darkness been the original product, history might have played out differently. It wouldn't have done better to revolutionize the series, no, but it would have been a decent-enough game and likely would have inspired conversations that centered around the potential that it showed. "This is a solid first attempt at 3D Castlevania," we might have said, "and it forms a foundation on which a top-quality future 3D entry could potentially be built."

But really, there's no point in exploring the hypothetical. Doing so won't change anything. We simply have to accept the fact that Castlevania 64 didn't deliver. We have to see it for what it is: a rushed, butchered mess of game that fell well short on its promise to bring the series into the 3D era in a highly impactful, monumental way.

Critics will remember it as a big-budget disaster that had its lunch eaten by a cheaply produced, underhyped 2D side-scroller on a rival platform. Castlevania fans will remember it as the game that left a permanent black mark on the series' reputation. And I'll remember it as the game that almost succeeded in pushing me away from the Castlevania series for good.

Oh, but there was a happy ending to all of this. There came a day when I learned of the Castlevania series' amazingly rich history and fell in love with the series all over again. Also, Konami Computer Entertainment of Kobe (KCEK), Castlevania 64's developer, went on to redeem itself by creating Castlevania: Circle of the Moon, which was a very good action-adventure game that was well-received by fans and critics alike. And eventually the series experienced a renaissance of sorts under the leadership of Koji Igarashi, whose team produced a string of solid-to-great series entries.

So we all came out clean on the other side.

And together we overcame Castlevania 64's dark curse and earned ourselves the best ending.