There is something strange that occurs when you encounter a video game late in life — it is difficult to determine whether you truly love it or simply are trying to make up for lost time. However, with Castlevania: Symphony of the Night, I am confident that it is a little bit of both. In 2012, I purchased this game as I was in the middle of my “retro gaming catch-up” phase, and it has become the only game I have ever stopped playing.
For months, my daughter had been asking me to play Symphony of the Night, saying, “Dad, you need to play Symphony of the Night. It’s like, the perfect game.” You know how children behave when they discover something they believe you’ve never experienced? Well, I had actually heard of it — I remember seeing it in magazines in ‘97; watching friends play it periodically — however, I was too busy working 60-hour weeks, and handling divorce-related paperwork, to care about video games. How funny is it that life turns out that way?
I walked into a small game store in Denver — likely now closed — and this is where I came upon a copy of the PlayStation version of the game for $45. Although my construction-worker brain winced at paying that amount for a 1997 game, the cover caught my eye. It was Gothic as hell, a mysterious guy with white hair, a castle in the background, etc. It reminded me of something I may have rented from Blockbuster had I had the time back in the day.
When I returned home and booted up my PlayStation 2 (yes, I was also catching up on systems) and started the game, I immediately began experiencing that opening sequence. Holy Cow! You’re playing as some Belmont guy, battling Dracula, and the voice acting is… well, it’s a unique experience. “What is a man? A pitiful little pile of secrets!” delivered with the type of drama that I’m used to hearing at a local community theatre performance of Hamlet. At first, I thought, “this is either fantastic or dreadful, and I’m not sure which.”
It turned out that it was fantastic. The cheesy factor was not a flaw, it was a feature. It added a sense of theatricality to the overall Gothic horror atmosphere, rather than making it pretentious. It seemed that the developers knew exactly what they were doing when they recorded the lines.
Then the actual game begins, and you’re this half-vampire named Alucard exploring his dad’s castle. Immediately I could tell that this was unlike the linear Castlevania games that I’d previously attempted. This felt more like … I don’t know, like being released into a museum where you could interact with everything and every room connected to 3 other rooms you hadn’t viewed yet. The movement was also extremely smooth, unlike most 2D games.
When I accidentally discovered the back-dash maneuver while panicking during a fight, it felt like finding a twenty-dollar bill in an old jacket.
The exploration aspect of the game instantly grabbed my interest. I’m accustomed to working in construction, where you follow blueprints, and every item has a predetermined location and order of operation. This castle was like a blueprint that continued to change as you progressed through the game, and finding a new ability allowed you to gain access to areas you had been unable to enter for hours prior. I was able to use the double-jump power-up for approximately an hour of back-tracking through the entire castle, gaining access to areas that I thought I had fully explored, and accessing ledges that I had stared at prior to the double-jump.
That is good game design.
What ultimately sold me on the game was the equipment system. I’m not typically a fan of RPG elements — I do not enjoy number-crunching as much as I enjoy action — however, Symphony presented the RPG elements visually and immediately. Different weapons affected how Alucard moved and fought. I eventually found a ridiculous sword called the Crissaegrim that transformed Alucard into a blender if I rapidly pressed the attack button. It took me approximately twenty minutes of trial-and-error to master the timing of this ridiculous attack — however, once I did? I felt like I was cheating, but the game was clearly intended for you to find that kind of broken combination.
However, the music. Oh boy. I have worked at several construction sites where guys debate what to listen to on the radio — classic rock, country, etc. — but this soundtrack would’ve put an end to the argument. Each area had a distinct theme that fit the atmosphere perfectly. The library sounded scholarly and mysterious. The clock tower had a sense of urgency and machinery. And I won’t even begin to describe how “Tragic Prince” sounds during boss battles — it gets my blood pumping in a manner that few horror movies can accomplish.
I ended up purchasing the soundtrack CD a few years later from an import site. I paid far more than I should have, but I listen to it when I’m working on projects at home. There is something about that Gothic orchestral sound that allows me to focus. My neighbour asked me why I was listening to “vampire music,” and I told him I was working on some deck furniture. He asked if I was experiencing some sort of midlife crisis. I didn’t know. I don’t really care.
Approximately 15 hours into the game, I thought I had completed it. I defeated the main boss, saw what appeared to be the ending, and felt fairly satisfied with my purchase. However, the game told me to equip some rings to “see beyond evil’s illusions,” and suddenly the entire castle turned upside down, and I realised I had only seen half of the game’s content. I actually said “are you kidding me?” out loud to my empty living room. The upside-down castle was not just a gimmick — the level designers had somehow created architecture that functioned both vertically and horizontally, transforming familiar rooms into entirely new challenges. The areas that had previously been easy to navigate became deadly zones when the gravity was reversed, forcing me to adapt my combat strategy and think about vertical space in ways that the right-side-up castle had not required.
The upside-down castle added a new layer of complexity to the existing areas of the castle, requiring me to reevaluate my strategies and find new paths to previously inaccessible areas. My first playthrough took approximately a month of evening sessions, and I finished with approximately 185% map completion — yes, the developers allowed you to exceed 100% due to the upside-down castle, which was a nice touch. However, I was aware that I had missed a significant portion of the content. Secret rooms, hidden items, odd optional bosses that I had heard existed, but never located. Therefore, naturally, I started a second playthrough.
In 2012, I had GameFAQs and YouTube available if I needed help finding information. However, I didn’t use either resource. Part of the enjoyment was finding items and secrets independently, in the same manner as a person would have done in 1997. I found breakable walls by accident, and various transformation abilities by chance, and I spent an excessive amount of time farming rare drops from enemies, simply to discover what items they dropped. Each discovery felt accomplished, whereas researching the answers via GameFAQs would not have achieved the same feeling.
Symphony of the Night contains an extraordinary number of secrets. While I am referring primarily to hidden items, the game also features genuine weirdness that does not provide any tangible benefit, except to provide enjoyment. There is a pair of boots that increases Alucard’s height for no reason. You can sit in a confessional booth for precisely 1 minute, and a pair of little devils will appear. The developers obviously enjoyed creating this game, and were including additional details solely because they wanted to, and not merely due to pressure from a focus group.
I estimate that I have replayed Symphony approximately eight or nine times in the last twelve years. With each playthrough, I continue to discover something I missed in previous playthroughs, or I establish some arbitrary goal such as, “I want to complete the game utilizing only the least effective weapons” or “I want to see how quickly I can reach the upside-down castle.” Due to the exceptional quality of the core gameplay, the game never feels repetitive.
What is particularly amusing is how this game spoiled me for other action RPGs. I would attempt a new game, and I would think, “but the movement doesn’t feel as fluid as Symphony” or “the equipment system isn’t as streamlined.” It established a standard that many games cannot achieve, even today — twenty-five years later. I have played many “Metroidvania” games since then — that is the term used to describe this genre of games — and while many of them are excellent, none have replicated the magic that Symphony of the Night achieved.
The modern versions of the game are generally faithful to the original, although they did clean up some of the voice acting for the better and for the worse. The new voice acting is certainly superior to the original, but it lost the campy, cheesy charm that made the original so quote-worthy. Sometimes, imperfections contribute to a product’s character, similar to an older structure having unique characteristics that make it appealing versus a new structure lacking character.
I currently possess Symphony of the Night on four different platforms — the original PlayStation disc, the PSP version, the PlayStation 4 compilation, and the recent Switch version. My wife believes I am crazy for purchasing the same game multiple times, but each version has its benefits. The Switch version is ideal for playing in bed before sleep — there is something soothing about wandering through the castle in the evening with headphones on, simply exploring at your own pace.
As an adult, when I encountered Symphony of the Night without the nostalgia of my youth attached to it, I could evaluate the game based on its merit alone. And the merit is substantial. The pacing is flawless — you begin weak, and eventually develop the ability to be incredibly powerful; however, the difficulty adjusts according to your skill level so you never feel overpowered, unless it is at the very end of the game, when being overpowered is part of the fun. The world design is intricate without being convoluted. The combat has depth, but requires no precise timing to enjoy.
More importantly, the game respects your time and intellect. The game provides no assistance, no tutorials explaining each mechanic in excruciating detail, and no quest markers directing you to where to proceed. Instead, the game trusts you to learn, to experiment, and to explore. That type of design philosophy seems to be decreasingly common in modern games — the vast majority of games include some form of assistance, whether it is a tutorial, quest markers, or some other form of guidance.
The influence of Symphony of the Night on the gaming industry is quite impressive. You can draw a direct connection from Symphony to games such as Hollow Knight, Axiom Verge, and Bloodstained — all of which are excellent games that understand what made the original special. However, none of them replicate the atmosphere of Symphony, nor the exact balance of Gothic horror and Baroque excess that creates the uniqueness of Symphony.
I believe what continues to bring me back to the game is that it represents game design at its finest — systems that function in harmony to produce something greater than the sum of its individual components. The exploration aspects support the RPG progression, which in turn supports the combat mechanics, which in turn supports the narrative and atmosphere of the game. All of the elements of the game support each other. As a builder of structures for a living, I can appreciate that type of structural integrity.
Additionally, despite playing the game numerous times, I still occasionally find something new. A secret room I had previously overlooked, an enemy interaction I had previously missed, a new method of combining weapons that changes how I approach certain areas. For a game that I believed I had mastered, it continually surprises me. That is indicative of something special — when familiarity breeds respect, rather than contempt.
My daughter was correct all those years ago, when she initially suggested the game. Symphony of the Night is nearly perfect, one of those rare games where all of the elements come together perfectly. Whether I discovered the game fifteen years after its initial release does not detract from its effect on me. In reality, approaching the game without nostalgia allowed me to appreciate the game design more objectively. This is not merely a great game from 1997 — it is a great game, period. One that I will undoubtedly continue to play in another twenty-five years, provided my reflexes remain sufficient, and I can still identify the small pixelated enemies.
0 Comments