From the Memory Bank: My History with Video Games

Solomon's Key - A Building Block of My Expanding DNA
How the adventures of young wizard Dana provided me a surprise injection of enlightenment.

So in previous entries, I told you all about my brother, James, and the strange behavior he exhibited in his younger years. I told you about how he would periodically visit local electronics stores and assorted retail outlets with the intention of snatching up any and all NES games that were either on sale, at cut-rate prices, or currently taking up residence in bargain bins. These, you see, were his "collecting phases," which started in 1989 and were recurrent up until early 1993, when the NES was in its twilight years and stores were in the process of clearing out their inventory. During that stretch, he purchased somewhere around 100 games.

But that wasn't the strange part, no. What was unusual was his propensity for not actually caring about any of the games he was buying. I swear: Over a five-year period, he played maybe three of them seriously.

Now, it may seem odd to you that I never thought to ask him why he was accumulating so many games he didn't plan on playing (at least not for more than a few minutes), but then you have to remember that we're talking about me--someone who rarely asked questions and generally accepted people and things for what they were. James, I recognized, was just being his usual attention-deficit self. He was always like that. He'd beg our parents or our aunt to buy him new toys, and when they did, he'd play with them for a day or two and then quickly move on to the next thing. And as a result, our basement came to be filled with unloved Michael Jackson records, dilapidated Kiss dolls, infrequently used gym equipment (like his Everlast-brand boxing gloves and punching bag, which he'd put to use whenever he was pretending to be Rocky Balboa. Of course, he hocked them later on when he needed money to buy the next product he didn't plan on using for more than a week), and so many of the other toys and items he'd since discarded.

That was James, man.

In time, I grew to appreciate this behavior because I realized that it was me who was directly benefiting from his compulsive buying binges and lack of sustained interest. When he no longer cared about a toy or a game, it would become mine. He'd just give it to me. "Eh, you can have it," he'd say before running off. And so I was forever the lucky recipient of cool hand-me-downs--of toys and games that I came to love but probably would have missed out on or ignored were it not for James' being nice enough to let me have them.

That was the case with a great many of the NES games that came to fill my game racks over the years.

Such was the case with Solomon's Key, a cherished favorite that likely wouldn't have become part of my life had James not introduced me to it.

It was a familiar scene: He emerged from the basement (his domain), walked on over to the den (my domain), and excitedly presented to me Solomon's Key, his latest purchase. What followed, as per usual, was my assessment phase and therein the cognitive processes out of which would come the decision as to whether or not I had any desire to actually give this new game a fair chance.

For a few reasons, Solomon's Key immediately had a lot going against it. For one, I was put off by the name. "Solomon's Key" was weird-sounding, I thought, and was so in a familiar way; it reminded me of all of those arcane, often-impenetrable Commodore 64 games that I could never figure out. "That must mean that it's just as incomprehensible as they are," I was quick to think.

Also, the box's cover art wasn't doing much for me. I looked over it with an impassive strain of puzzlement. "What the hell is this funky artwork trying to tell me?" I wondered as I examined the box's front cover. "Why is this overgrown elf dude pointing his wand at a stationary pillar of blocks while ignoring the string of disembodied demon heads that you'd think were a much bigger threat?"

"Why would I ever want to play something like this?" I asked myself upon completing the assessment.

Though, I made sure to keep these thoughts internalized. I didn't, after all, want to hurt James' feelings or give him the impression that I was ungrateful for what was in in actuality a gift. No--that would have been an awful thing to do. So instead I gave him the ol' "Well, ain't this game interesting!" act and told him that I'd check it out later.

And then there was the biggest why Solomon's Key wasn't likely to get any play: the fact that it was arriving at the worst possible time, during a period when recently purchased games like Double Dragon, Trojan, Renegade and Wrecking Crew were soaking up all of my attention. I was already swamped.

I mean, I was a big fan of puzzle-platformer hybrids (like the aforementioned Wrecking Crew), sure, but this one just didn't seem to be up my alley. It was too weird-looking, and I didn't trust that it would make any sense. It certainly didn't help that I had recently fallen into a pattern of behavior in which I was only interested in buying and playing games that (a) my friends or cousins owned or (b) were already familiar to me (I was in that "copycat" phase I talked about in previous pieces).

Though, in the days that followed, I did decide to give Solomon's Key a look--mostly because I felt guilty about ignoring it, yeah, but also because I felt obligated to adhere to a recently established personal rule that dictated that I must make use, even if minimally so, of any received gift. "You owe it to the gift-giver to at least try on the shirt or spend a few minutes playing with the toy before permanently shelving it," I thought.

But I wasn't going in excited, no. Rather, I had already made up my mind that I was going to give Solomon's Key the same type of dismissive, low-enthusiasm sampling I'd normally reserve for predictably bad sequels and licensed kiddy games.

But then something surprising happened: Moments after the game had started and the hero had materialized, I suddenly found myself in a state of entrancement. Right there, on that 20-inch TV screen, was one of the most distinctive-looking, strangely attractive scenes I'd ever observed. Truly I was taken with the game's aesthetics--with its gray-block foreground visual and its background graphics, which were composed of pleasingly rendered garnet-colored brickwork (I've always had a thing for brickwork displays in video games) and alluringly mysterious carved symbols. "What an intriguing setting!" I thought as I surveyed the screen.

Seconds later, my ears began to receive the game's music, which was even more entrancing than its visuals! The tune that was playing sounded like no other I'd ever heard. I couldn't even begin to describe or determine its style or tone. It wasn't "whimsical" or "enchanting" or "haunting," no--it was something else. Something that defied simple explanation. All I could think was that this music was otherworldly. "Whoever composed this tune can't be from this dimension," I felt. 

The fantastically spellbinding music's presence helped to complete what was a strikingly unique atmosphere--one with which I'd quickly fall in love. Before I could even move the hero a single pixel or begin to comprehend what was happening, I'd been wholly captured by Solomon's Key.

"What is this game?" I wondered, now overcome with curiosity. It was indeed "weird," as I had previously surmised, but not in the obscure, bewildering way I was expecting, no. Rather, it was weird in the best way possible--in a way that inspired me to put my imagination to work and conceive of mysterious, wonderfully bizarre worlds and the types of beings that might inhabit them. Only the most special of games could stir my imagination like that.

The place I was at now was a million miles away from where I was just two minutes before. That's because Solomon's Key had shown swiftness in grabbing me by the collar and telling me how it was. "The hell with your low expectations," it said. "Get ready for an experience you'll never forget!"

And just like that, I was ready to enthusiastically dive into Solomon's Key!

From there, it was all about figuring out the controls and the mechanics. And I had to do so on my own because I was going in completely blind. I couldn't consult the manual because, well, there wasn't one; James had bought a used copy of Solomon's Key, you see, and, as was often the case with re-sold games, it didn't come with a manual. So I didn't know anything about the storyline, the hero's struggle, the controls, the enemies, or the items.

Luckily, Solomon's Key was one of those games whose early level design was devised in such a way that the very structuring was a natural logic guide. Really, that's how the most-truly-accessible games were designed back then. Developers didn't need to fill their games with chatty helpers or provide needless interruption in the form of insulting prompts, no; instead they trusted in both their level-design methodologies and players' ability to recognize and respond to subtle visual clues. What a concept, right?

So as it went, Room 1's level design helped me to intuit the game's controls and basic mechanics; by reading and interacting with my surroundings, I was able to learn about the hero's abilities and how said abilities could affect the game's world. I discovered, for instance, that you could magically create brown blocks by pressing the A button and subsequently destroy them using the same input. And then I discovered that you could traverse upon created blocks after jumping up onto them; though, honestly, I was a bit concerned when I learned that you had to press up on the d-pad to execute a jump, since in the past I'd had a lot of trouble controlling games that employed such a scheme. "This could cause me some trouble," I thought.

Still, I found the block-creating mechanic to be highly intriguing. When I first saw it in action, my perception was that I'd just been introduced to a radically new gameplay mechanic that would surely serve to put a unique twist on puzzle-platformers, which traditionally featured largely static environments, grid-based movement, and between-level traversal that was limited to climbing up and down specially placed ladders and vines. Here I was, suddenly, playing something entirely new: a single-screen puzzle-platformer that was offering me the freedom to access and explore its stages' every open space using tools that allowed for me to create my own means of transportation! I could travel anywhere I wanted as long as a gray foreground block wasn't obstructing me! I could examine a stage's structure and carefully plan my mode of construction, or I could simply wing it--improvise my way over to a desired location!

That's what Solomon's Key was excited to tell me about. "This is your new sandbox, kid," it said. And all I could think was "What a wild idea!"

And all of that right there--that was just what went on in the opening twenty seconds. Talk about making an indelible first impression!

As I maneuvered about that first stage ("Room 1," as the game called it) and experimented with my block-creating ability--generally exploring its limitations--I looked around and made some observations. I noticed, for one, that portions of the stage were blocked off by a type of brown-colored block whose design was an exact match for the ones I was creating. So I thought, "If I can destroy my own brown blocks, then it's logical to think that I can destroy those that were there by default!"

The first such obstructive block was placed near the room's center point; it had marching atop it a burly-looking ogre-type enemy who would wildly flail his arms whenever I moved to within proximity. "I can definitely pull the chair out from beneath this guy," I thought to myself as I approached his support block. And what I predicted came true: When I destroyed the block, the ogre, having lost his support, fell to the ground and died, exploding into nothingness. "So as I suspected," I said while nodding, "enemies can't survive one-tile drops."

Once the obstruction was cleared away, I was granted access the room's upper-middle portion and the floating bell that could be seen hovering near the ceiling. When I grabbed the bell, a fairy emerged from the room's locked door, as seen at the screen's bottom. I didn't know what her appearance was meant to indicate, but I was certain that it would be worth it to "rescue" her (not that it would take much effort considering that I was heading down there anyway). And finally I procured the key, whose obvious function was to open the locked door, which it did instantly; you didn't need to carry it to the door. Thereafter I rescued the fairy, who seemed to gravitate toward me, and then promptly exited the stage.

I wasn't sure what, exactly, rescuing the fairy did for me, no, but that was OK. "I'll find out in time," I thought. All in all, though, the game had done a good job of teaching me the basics. I knew (a) how to advance through stages, (b) how to deal with enemies, and (c) what my main goal was (get key, exit room).

Also, I learned something important from the proceeding intermission screen: The hero's name was--get this--"Dana"! 

"Haha--he's named after a girl!" I said mockingly in response to this apparently hilarious revelation.

While negotiating my way through the two proceeding rooms, I continued to experiment with the controls and my block-creating ability and consequently--mostly fortuitously--came to know more about the game's mechanics. I learned, for instance, that you could use blocks to shield yourself from enemy fire. Also, you could obstruct a charging or stalking enemy by placing a block in front of it and therein temporarily interrupt its movement or possibly redirect it. In the case of those platform-circling energy blobs, you could continuously place blocks in their paths and thus direct them toward any other part of the room; conversely you could destroy the blocks they were circling and force them into an unbound state in which they'd float over to the nearest surface.

What a wonderfully multifaceted ability! "And there's probably a lot more to learn about it," I was inspired to think.

However, as it would turn out, this would be one of the last times that I'd understand anything about what was happening in Solomon's Key.

First I have to talk about the items. Had you been there with me, sitting alongside me while I played the game, I wouldn't have been able to tell you what any of the items were or what they did. There were, seemingly, hundreds of items, and I swear to you that I couldn't solidly discern the significance of any single one of them. Everywhere I'd look, I'd see gems and bags and pots and potions and so many others items that were completely unidentifiable, and all I could do after collecting one was say, "What? What does this thing do?"

Most games had what--8 to 10 items, tops, with a certain uniformity to most of them? But not Solomon's Key, man. Oh, no--its was a record-shattering number of disparately designed thingamajigs, and very often large quantities of them were strewn about rooms' open spaces. Hell--there were even a bunch of them hiding in unseen spaces: Some were placed behind preexisting destructible blocks while others would appear only after I'd created and destroyed one of my own blocks. I was baffled by this aspect of the game. "Do I actually need to collect any of this stuff?" I'd wonder as I hopped about. "Will I be able to advance later on if I don't?"

Many a time, my instinct was that because I didn't understand the significance of the items, I was missing out on something--on some amazingly interesting or even crucial element of the game. "Perhaps I'm robbing myself of the full Solomon's Key experience," I wondered.

This same feeling of incomprehension extended to other areas of the game. The controls, for instance: I was confused as to why the developers assigned jumping to the d-pad's up-directional when they had a free button to work with (B). Whenever I'd think about this issue, I'd wonder if it was a matter of the developer making a misguided design choice or if, again, I was simply missing something.

If only I'd had a manual.

So you know what I did? I simply ignored all of it. I decided that I didn't need to know what any of the items did, what that "shrine" business was all about, or why the developers left the B button free. I could have a good time with Solomon's Key regardless; I could have an enjoyable experience without knowing how the procurement of orange gems, Roman-numeral-emblazoned bags or "origami ducks" was helping me. Really, Solomon's Key's basic gameplay was entertaining enough for me.

Of course, I didn't remain ignorant forever. As the years went, I learned more and more about the game and that indeed there was much more to it than what I'd seen. The last major thing I remember discovering pre-Internet was that blue vases granted the player the ability to shoot fireballs; each obtained vase would grant you one fireball shot, using which you could destroy a single enemy. And you could see how many fireballs you had left by looking toward the right side of the HUD, where your remaining stock was displayed via a visual that showed fireball symbols etched onto some type of tattered scroll. Also, orange vases granted you the use of a special type of fireball that would circumnavigate platforms, and even entire rooms, for a set period of time during which it would destroy all enemies in its path; this special type appeared on the scroll as a larger fireball symbol.

"So that's what the B button does," I said while shaking my head. "Maybe I should have tried actually pressing it during one of those successive plays. How stupid."

Though, at least I now possessed knowledge that would help me to more easily clear some of the game's tougher rooms.

The point is that Solomon's Key was a wonderfully inventive action-puzzler (which I felt was a more accurate label for a game of its type) that challenged me to think about platforming and puzzle-solving in ways that I hadn't before. It offered many in the way of cleverly designed, sometimes-mind-bending puzzle configurations and provided me an extraordinarily interesting, wholly unique set of tools whose availability invited me to maneuver about and solve puzzles in any way I could imagine. Also, it featured some of the most strange-but-utterly-enchanting music I'd ever heard in a game; its presence helped to render one of the most wondrously bizarre playing environments I'd ever immersed myself in (it should have been obvious to me that the game's composer, Michiharu Hasuya, was the same guy who worked on Rygar, whose music had that same wondrously entrancing quality).

These were the elements that fascinated me so. They're what made Solomon's Key so instantly memorable to me. They're what would forevermore immediately come to mind any time I would see the name "Solomon's Key."

Oh, and it was certainly a tough game. Such was clear to me in the early going: Once I got about, say, six rooms in, Solomon's Key stopped messing around. That's when rooms were suddenly filled with dangerous activity. After suffering a string of deaths, I knew that I wasn't going to get any farther into Solomon's Key without a sufficient amount of practice, so I called it quits for the day and decided that I should come back to the game when I could devote a large chunk of time to it. "Turns out that this is my type of game," I was happy to admit.

And that's how it went: I'd return to Solomon's Key once or twice a week, and each time I'd learn more about the depth of its systems and mechanics and particularly about the range of Dana's abilities. I'd develop new strategies for successfully manipulating and working around both the fiendishly aggressive enemies and obstacles like the obstructive flame pillars. And I'd use all of this new knowledge to advance farther into the game.

There was a point, though, where I hit a wall: No matter how much I improved, I simply couldn't endure long enough to advance past the mid-20 stages. That's about when the game's difficulty ratcheted up to insane levels--when suddenly rooms were packed with so many obnoxious enemies and the puzzles were so highly involved that it became impossible for me to both competently deal with the numerous threats and meet the conditions for room-exiting and so within the short, stress-inducing time-limit. I'd die at this part like clockwork. And after failing for a number of weeks, I came to think that I'd never possess the skill necessary to beat such a game. "Hell," I thought, "I'll probably never even see the late-20 stages." (Note that I wasn't yet aware of the continue code.)

Solomon's Key, I determined, was inconceivably difficult and not a game I was meant to ever conquer.

But you know what? I didn't care about that. I didn't care that the game grew to be too difficult in the same way I didn't care that, still, I didn't know what any of the items did (and it would be more than a decade before I was fully informed about such). All I knew was that I really liked playing Solomon's Key. Its core element--using a block-creating/destroying ability to procure keys and unlock doors--was compelling-enough on its own. That's where it was easy to comprehend. That's where it shined. "So what if I can't make it far into the game?" I thought. "These 24 or so stages are enjoyable enough. On their own, they provide a satiating experience."

I have to admit, though, that there was something very appealing about being oblivious to the game's other elements. My not knowing what the items did or not having a clue as to what additional mechanics or systems might exist helped to imbue Solomon's Key with an even-more-pronounced air of mystery. It's what helped to intensify the game's alluringly foreign-, otherworldly-feeling atmosphere. I liked feeling as though parts of Solomon's Key were beyond my understanding--as though it came from some other plane of existence with a message whose meaning was beyond comprehension. It inspired me to wonder about the nature of its creation. "Who came up with these concepts?" I'd wonder. "And what form of sorcery did they use to develop them in this way?"

That Solomon's Key could evoke such thoughts and mental images is one of the biggest reasons why I was so drawn to it--why it was an object of fascination for me. It was why I formed such a strong connection with it. Solomon's Key's was a portal into a world that was strange and unusual in an indescribable-yet-endlessly-alluring way. That, to me, was its identity. That's how I'd always remember it.

So yeah--Solomon's Key had become another one of my NES favorites. I'd return to it regularly. I'd pop it in whenever I was hungry for the type of tactical, intellect-testing action that the usual batch of side-scrolling action/adventure games just couldn't deliver. And you know what? There were instances when I actually did advance a bit further into the game. Those were the moments when I'd say to myself, "Maybe"--when I'd delude myself into thinking that with enough practice I could find a way to forge on straight ahead to the finale. In the years ahead, the thought of such became part of my impetus to return to it.

Solomon's Key, I'm sad to say, didn't get much attention from people in my friend-circle. And, really, I blame myself for that. I simply didn't push for it. I convinced myself that its style of gameplay didn't lend itself to the group-focused activity--that it didn't fit in with the Balloon Fights and Contras of the world. It was best enjoyed alone, I thought.

I regret making that assumption. Had I been more aggressive in demonstrating for them why Solomon's Key was worthy of recognition, they might have come to love it; it might have become the case that they loved playing it with me. Then together we might have figured out how to beat it. Unfortunately, that didn't happen.

Though, there were a few instances in which friends and I played it together. I have memories of subjecting Dominick and Mike to the 20-numbered stages and watching on as they nervously stumbled about and desperately tried to grasp the game's concepts--this before taking a swift-moving fireball to the face. That was always fun. Also, I fondly remember how we'd alternate control and how one of us would celebrate the other's clearing of a stage by singing along to the intermission's two-note ditty using the imaginatively devised lyrics "Thank you, Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana! Dana!" Because that's what would happen to our brains after we'd spent ten minutes beating each other over the head with my talking Pee-Wee Herman doll.

Come on--don't act like you didn't do the same thing.

24 years later, Solomon's Key still fills the same role. It fits into my life the same way: Whenever I'm hankering for an action-puzzle experience, I load up Solomon's Key on whichever device I'm using and fruitlessly attempt to reach the game's final room without using the continue code. Normally I give in and use the code, anyway, but only because I don't want to stop playing; the game's action is just too compelling--as much now as it was back then. I'm never in a rush to leave its world.

I've beaten it using the code, yeah, but I had to use a walkthrough to do it. That is, after two decades, I had to force myself to do some research and finally learn about the game's other elements. You know--find out what the rest of the items do and get a sense of how the shrine system works. It turns out that the unlocking of the true ending requires the obtention of the Constellation Icons that appear in every fourth room (though, some of them are hidden and view and have to be made visible via the process of placing a block on a specific tile and then breaking it) and also a number of other hidden items (Solomon's Seals and Pages of Time and Space). It's all very complicated, and I'm certain that my younger self would never have figured out any of it.

But still, just as it's always been, I don't need to actually finish Solomon's Key to derive maximum enjoyment from it. A simple third of it still goes a long, long way.

What's even better is that there's still more to Solomon's Key! That's right: There's an arcade version! I didn't know as much until around, say, 2002, when I watched a video wherein someone played through its earliest stages. I was honestly blown away by this discovery. There were two reasons for this: First because I was learning that another one of my NES favorites started life as an arcade game and somehow sneaked past me; and then because I never thought that a game of its type could have arcade roots. "A puzzle game in arcades?!" I uttered, shocked by reality of the situation.

It turns out that developing action-puzzle games for arcades wasn't an uncommon practice. Notably, Kickle Cubicle and Bubble Bobble--two games that I was entirely certain were NES originals, birthed specifically by the NES' unmistakable technical specs--also started life in arcades, which is kinda crazy. Though, I've found that games of their type actually do work really well in the arcade format. I recommend checking them out; they're worth a look, particularly if you're a fan of the genre.

The arcade version of Solomon's Key is an interesting beast. It's not one-to-one with the NES version, contrary to what I originally thought. No--it's visually and aurally superior (though not by a huge degree) and features some unique music tracks, gameplay elements, stages, and enemy characters, including two of the series' most infuriatingly awful foes (stalking, seeping slimes and relentlessly pursuant Dana-like wizards). It plays great, and I've had a lot of fun with it over the years, though I'm still not prepared to make a verdict as to whether or not it's superior to the NES version. Really, I don't think I'll ever be; I like them both too much to pit them against each other.

I was excited to see the arcade version turn up on an ESRB listing that had it slated for release on the 3DS Virtual Console. "It's about time it got some recognition," I thought. "I'm definitely going to purchase a copy when Nintendo of America gets around to releasing it in, oh, 2019."

But you know what? Some things are worth waiting for.

And there's more! Solomon's Key also has a direct sequel called Fire 'N Ice!

I first became aware of its existence sometime in the early 2000s, though I didn't play it until years later. Before then, I had no idea that it was related to Solomon's Key. I realized that such was the case when one of the in-game characters referred to the hero as "Dana." And right then, for the second in time in life, I was astonished to discover that there was a Solomon's Key-related game that I'd never heard about. Or, rather, one that I'd heard about but didn't know the true nature of.

I mean, how was I (or anyone else, for that matter) supposed to have known that a game called "Fire 'N Ice" was a sequel to Solomon's Key? I certainly wouldn't have recognized as much simply by looking at screenshots, because there are, after all, dozens of puzzle games starring elfin-lookin' dudes. I needed something more, like a sub-title. It should have been called Fire 'N Ice: Solomon's Key 2.

What's peculiar is that its developer, Tecmo, actually did title it "Solomon's Key 2" in Japan and Europe. But then, for some unknown reason, the company changed its title for the North American release. Whatever the reasoning, it made for a very questionable marketing decision. Had the game retained the Solomon's Key branding, it might have attracted more people. Hell--I know that I would have been there day one.

It's unfortunate that Fire 'N Ice got overlooked because it's a very solid game. Most interestingly, Tecmo didn't settle for iteration here. No--Fire 'N Ice is different from Solomon's Key in that it's more puzzle-focused and it introduces a unique set of mechanics. The action is still centered around block-creation, yes, but here you're using this ability for a distinct purpose; that is, you're aiming to eliminate all of a room's specially placed enemies by either pushing ice blocks into them or dropping ice blocks on their heads. And you're doing this within a number of uniquely themed worlds, each of which concludes with a special boss challenge. Trust me: It's a lot more exciting than it sounds. So go on and give it a shot. You'll discover, as I have, that Fire 'N Ice is a hidden gem. (I might even talk more about it in a future piece.)

But that Solomon's Key, man. It really is something special. To me it symbolizes an era in video-game history when developers weren't afraid to buck trends and take big creative risks--when they were happy to boast that their games were the product of unrestrained imagination. Solomon's Key certainly was. That's why it's so precious. We're probably never going to see another game like it. Thankfully Tecmo has been aggressive in its effort to keep the game as relevant as possible; the company has continued to work with Nintendo to bring Solomon's Key to every iteration of the Virtual Console. There it resides, waiting to remind us.

Moreover, it's there to offer me a word of caution. It's there to remind me of why its wrongheaded to play it safe and never try new things. It's there to warn me that history could very well repeat itself if ever I choose to remain in a bubble--that the only result will be my robbing myself of the opportunity to learn about and play wonderfully unique games like Solomon's Key and many others that I'll likely come to cherish.

Thank you, Solomon's Key, for teaching me that lesson. And thank you, James and Dana, for introducing me to new worlds and encouraging me to explore.