Castlevania: Belmont's Curse review - inspired by great ideas, but doomed by questiona

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In my office, I have a collage of Ordnance Survey maps plastered across my wall. They're from places I've lived - Derbyshire, East London, Bournemouth, Bristol - with cycle routes, country roads, and parks highlighted and circled. It's an atlas of my experiences, a living memoir of the places I've been and the things I've seen. There's magic in a map, its ability to remind you of the paths you've trodden and where you've yet to go.

Perhaps that's why I love Metroidvanias so much. Really, the game is the map. Is there anything more intoxicating than pushing your palms up against the walls supposedly keeping you in and knowing that - somewhere - there's a hidden path leading to the other side? Over the years, you develop an instinct for it; you get to play against the sadistic engineers of these labyrinthine spaces. 'I see your mysterious overhang,' you say, 'and jump through your roof. I see your egregious slab of a wall, and phase through its illusion.'

And Castlevania: Belmont's Curse has all this in spades. There are so many sly nuances tucked away around the streets of Paris and within Dracula's Castle that it's like I'm instantly transported back to my pre-pubescent self, nudging the D-Pad against every wall in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night in a belligerent attempt to sniff out its secrets.

Dead Cells developer Evil Empire's stewardship of the series honours the Belmont legacy with reverence. That begins with Rose Belmont, protégé daughter of Castlevania 3's main characters Trevor Belmont and Sypha Belnades, and a fearless vampire slayer herself. Belmont's Curse quickly sees her integrity tested and her resolve galvanised as Dracula's underlings wreck havoc in a ruined version of Paris in 1499. A lengthy tutorial introduces you to her central gimmick - a pack of tarot cards capable of sealing away the souls of those enthralled by the king of vampires - and then, before you know it, you're back in the bowels of Castle Dracula; jumping, and whipping, and navigating the sprawling map, more areas unlocking as you gain new skills. You sniff out clues as to what - and where - the main antagonists are, slowly revealed this interconnected web of intrigue as you become part of a story that's over 500 years old.

It's like 2D Castlevania never left. But in the 17 years since the release of Castlevania: The Adventure ReBirth (itself a remake of a 1989 game), there have been countless young genre upstarts vying for the 'Metroidvania' throne - Prince of Persia: The Lost Crown, Hollow Knight, Animal Well, Ori, and nu-Metroid all spring to mind. As Dracula languished in his perpetual undeath, the world has moved on. What he has spawned is now quicker, more aggressive, more mysterious. And Evil Empire understands that.

Some of what Belmont's Curse is laying down is absolutely inspired. The way that all the mirrors connect is sublime. A music-based puzzle in the depths of Notre-Dame cathedral is simply wonderful. The platforming gauntlet that takes you up the Clock Tower is great… when all the gears are working in tandem. But for all the sometimes genius design of its twisting corridors, its secrets-upon-secrets, and its sadistic environmental trickery, Belmont's Curse is too often undermined.

Maybe I've been spoiled by the litheness of Team Cherry's Hornet, or MercurySteam's driven version of Samus Aran. Because Rose feels awkward; an digital girl living in an analogue world. Her inputs, her attacks, her very being is defined by the classic eight directions of a D-pad, but everything else seems to exist on a more fluid plane. Some of Rose's abilities and attacks only work directly up, or down, or side-to-side. But all the enemies move in more organic ways, or throw their weapons in nice, flowing arcs. And it's the same for traversal. Trying to use her whip on enemies or anchors if you're not in some specific, awkward spot is a nightmare - and often turns smartly designed platforming segments into excruciating exercises in fighting with the game and its engine, instead of enjoying the puzzle. There's a constant, unpleasant tension between how I'm forced to move and how the world around me works.

Too often, Rose gets stuck between an enemy and its shield and stacks damage upon damage; your whip doesn't quite glue to where it's supposed to and you're sent back to the checkpoint, again. If I was being generous, I could argue it's a mechanical manifestation of Rose's curse; a plague of her legacy that holds back her true power as she wrestles with the consequences of legacy. But the awkward controls and framerate plummets - even on PS5 Pro - cause so many deaths, it's just irritating.

Furthermore, while I'm all for sadistic game design - I don't think I'd be playing a Metroidvania if I wasn't - there are times where Belmont's Curse feels mean-spirited, rather than playfully devious. Some of the checkpointing is unduly punishing, and the way in which you access fast travel and ease the pain of backtracking (something I'm reluctant to spoil) is needlessly convoluted and frustrating. Taking away the map in the most dizzying locale? I don't think that's as smart as the game thinks it is; it just makes for exasperating busywork.

Never is this tension between design and execution more egregious than in the boss fights. Some are really smart mechanical gauntlets that test your twitch reflexes and stamina; some are genuinely funny, simple encounters. Others are over-designed, trying to cram too many ideas in and ending up feeling a little unbalanced. If you're in a particularly tough fight (shout out, Death), a slippery whip or a weird platforming interaction is enough to end you. No matter how many of the stat-boosting trinkets you have equipped, no matter which of the seven weapon types you're using, you will be killed by a single misplaced boot on the edge of a ledge. That doesn't feel very Belmont.

Luckily, then, the pacing is great. Just when I'm starting to clutch my controller a bit too hard because I'm sick of hopping over spike traps and phasing between slabs of magical wall, Evil Empire seems to read my mind. 'Have at it, combat gauntlet!' it cries merrily, tossing a combination of enemies you've not yet encountered at you. 'I've got no health potions left!' you yelp, desperately. 'Good' the dev purrs. What follows is an exercise in pure desperation, a test of your savoir-faire, a reminder that for every boss you've purified so far, you've unlocked a new spell. Some of them refill your health - if you're canny about it. Others grant fleeting and precarious shields. More bind your enemies in one place, providing thankfully reliable anchors for your whip, allowing you to dash and hop over a sea of hazards taking over your screen.

In these moments, where the action-first philosophy of Evil Empire proudly puffs up its chest, and you make your own furniture to platform around, Belmont's Curse is exceptional. The Dead Cells DNA is undeniable, and the inspirations from decades of Castlevania glint off the flashes of your weapons as the blood of Night Creatures pools at your feet. The cortisol gives way to epinephrine, the acrobatics are tuned to assault. To use a fitting term, it gets your blood up.