Metroid Prime 4: Beyond dazzles the eyes—but drains the soul. It’s a game that proves technical brilliance isn’t always enough to save shaky design. After a decade of setbacks, cancellations, and a full reboot, the long-awaited return of Samus Aran finally lands—only to reveal both the triumphs and pitfalls of its tortured development.
Metroid Prime 4’s journey has been messy. Originally announced years ago, it was scrapped and handed back to Retro Studios—the developers responsible for the beloved original trilogy. That decision rekindled fan hope, but the scars of endless revisions and shifting visions are unmistakable in the final experience.
Visually, it’s stunning. Every frame glows with meticulously crafted detail: mesmerizing lighting, layered atmospheric sound design, and sweeping choir harmonies that pull players deep into alien worlds. On the Nintendo Switch 2, the game runs in two impressive modes—one maximizing crispness at 60 frames per second, the other prioritizing fluidity at 120 FPS. The texture work, reflections, and ambient effects show a clear love for art over sheer graphics horsepower. In that sense, Nintendo’s approach here should make the rest of the industry take note—beautiful doesn’t mean overcomplicated.
But then reality sets in: this isn’t just an art gallery in motion. You have to play it—and that’s where the cracks widen. The opening hours feel relentlessly linear, almost claustrophobic. Instead of quiet discovery and eerie isolation, waves of enemies fill every corridor. As if that weren’t enough, your early taste of “freedom” gets hijacked by a 20-minute tutorial on Samus’s new motorcycle, awkwardly named Vi-O-La. Once the game finally opens up, its central desert hub world gives you lore dumps that feel half-baked, while constant backtracking across barren locations chips away at the sense of exploration that once defined Metroid’s DNA.
And then there are the companions. Much has been written about the chatty Galactic Federation engineer Myles Mackenzie, whose endless snark fuels comparisons to Joss Whedon’s dialogue quirks. Unfortunately, the reports undersell it—it’s even worse. Worse still, he’s not alone. There’s a whole cast of wide-eyed sidekicks who constantly gush over Samus as if they were meeting a celebrity instead of fighting for survival. “Is that a new suit?” “The famous bounty hunter Samus Aran?” These lines might be meant to humanize her, but they end up flattening the atmosphere, breaking what little immersion remains. Some players might find these moments funny; others will likely reach for the mute button.
The middle stretch of the game fares slightly better. Once the story stops tripping over itself, bits of the classic Prime formula emerge. You’ll solve intricate puzzles, uncover hidden upgrades, and feel brief bursts of that nostalgic joy the series was built on. In those rare times, Metroid Prime 4 almost feels like home again.
But as a whole, this entry never fully earns its place alongside its predecessors. The disjointed pacing, confusing structural choices, and out-of-place dialogue rob it of the quiet mystery and emotional solitude that once defined Samus’s adventures. It’s beautiful, yes—but beauty alone can’t sustain a broken rhythm.
Fans of the series may still find pockets of satisfaction buried within the frustration. For everyone else, this might be the rare Nintendo game that’s easier to admire from afar than to actually play.
Do you think Metroid Prime 4 should have stuck closer to its roots—or is Nintendo right to push the series toward more action and accessibility? Let’s hear your take in the comments.
