[COLUMN] Hell Yeah, Save Points | by Marty Sliva

I spend a lot of time thinking about random elements of games that most normal, healthy folks probably just gloss over. Stuff like the various startup sounds of older consoles, the strange beauty of a game’s skybox, and the art of the mid-game disc swap. You know, typical weirdo stuff. And one of those things that my mind always seems to go back to are the unique ways that certain games present their save systems. 

To be clear, there’s a philosophical aspect to the save conversation that I find less interesting. Should we have full control over when we save, or do we like it when a developer grabs the wheel from us? Should we have a bevy of save files that can easily be reverted back to, or should we add weight to our decisions by having one and only one slot? Is the best save system one that we never even think about?

Those discussions are all well and good, but that’s not why we’re here today. We’re here because when a developer drops a silly, unique, memorable, or emotional save system, I can’t help but whisper out a little “hell yeah” to myself from under my breath.

By the time I really started getting into games during the SNES era, a handful of save slots were the norm. I still have my cartridges for games like A Link to the Past, Chrono Trigger, and EarthBound that still have a slot dedicated to my childhood save files, a really neat time capsule of the adventures that shaped me as a kid. 

As the consoles evolved, so did the methods of recording our journeys. I had a drawer filled with various memory cards from the Nintendo 64, original PlayStation, and those cute lil’ Dreamcast VMUs where I’m sure some poor Chao has starved to death at some point during the Obama administration. And of course, our adventures are now just recorded on internal and external hard drives, SD cards, and cloud saves. Less character than what came before it, though undoubtedly more efficient.

But to me, the best save points are an art form in and of themselves, and contribute to the mood of a given game. I became a fan of these pretty early on, as it felt like the ‘90s were filled with developers delivering unique methods of saving our games. In EarthBound, you’d have to find a hotel or store with a phone and use it to call up your dad, who’d give you a bit of advice, deposit some money into your bank account, and finally save your game before sending you back on your adventure. In Super Metroid, the save chambers scattered across Zebes acted as moments of solace across an otherwise alien world, complete with their iconic jingle as your progress was recorded. 

As these were codified, it also opened the door for some developers to subvert the idea of a save point. Chrono Trigger’s save points were tied to sparkling, but otherwise unremarkable, spots across the world that delivered a delightful “ping” sound when you activated them. However, in one section where you needed to slowly navigate a sewer system filled with creatures who’d attack at the slightest sound, there’s an alluring save point that I activated, only for that “ping” to exist in the game world, summoning enemies and tossing me into battle. Some real FromSoft shit by Squaresoft, right there.

And I love the moment in Castlevania: Symphony of the Night where you stumble upon your 20th or so polyhedron save point, only for this one to appear a deep and unnerving shade of purple. You try to use it, and instead of marking your progress, you’re whisked away to a nightmare world where you have to face a monstrous take on the moment that your mother was murdered. Also, the revelation in Xenogears regarding just exactly what the in-world save points are made of has stuck with me for over 25 years.

The move into the PS1 generation also brought with it a flock of interesting new wrinkles to saving our games. In Resident Evil, saving became tied to a consumable item, forcing you to decide whether to use a precious Ink Ribbon, or press on a bit further at the risk of losing your progress when some dumb dog crashes through a window and gives you a big ol’ peck on the face.

Metal Gear Solid had long Codec conversations with Mei Ling, who would often just chat about movies she’s seen, bestow some some philosophical tidbits, or yell at us for being perverts. And in order to save in Mega Man Legends, you just need to speak with a dancing monkey. Nothing more to add there, other than perhaps every single game ever made would be better if that’s how you had to save your game.

As we pressed on into the PS2, the unique save point that immediately comes to mind are Ico’s benches, which give a moment of respite for our two heroes along their dangerous journey out of the castle. Loading up a save file will often show us the pair asleep on the stone seats, only waking up once we move the control stick. I have to imagine that Team Cherry were somewhat inspired when they made the save benches in Hollow Knight.

The same generation gave us Silent Hill 2’s ominous red squares and Killer7’s utterly bizarre little pocket dimensions sometimes occupied by a maid who’s more than happy to save your progress. And on the subversive side, the sanity effects of Eternal Darkness would oftentimes trick you into thinking the console has shut off, or that your save file had been corrupted. A cruel, unusual, and absolutely effective way to bolster the game’s atmosphere.

But as we pressed on through the generations, it feels like unique save points fell out of vogue, at least in the AAA space. It now feels like autosaves, manual saves, and some variation of FromSoft’s bonfires are the fallback in so many of the big games from the past decade or so. Again, it’s absolutely more practical, but definitely loses out on a bit of character.

Thankfully, indie games like Shovel Knight, Demon Turf, Undertale, and Doki Doki Literature Club have done a good job of providing unique takes on saving and checkpoints, with the latter two definitely leaning into the aforementioned subversive category.

So usually at the end of these columns I try to come to some kind of conclusion regarding the topic at hand. But honestly, I don’t have one today. I just really like it when a game does something creative with its save system. Let me know of any weird ways of saving you have fond memories of, or if you have any saving horror stories like forgetting to hit the eject button on your Steel Battalion controller and losing all of your progress like a chump.