Video games today are expected to come with certain features, not the least of which is some kind of online and/or local multiplayer. In particular, most games feature very casual-friendly things: tutorials about gameplay mechanics and controls, frequent save points and autosave features, compasses on the HUD that tell you where to go, regenerating health and so on. Having just finished my first playthrough of the 1997 classic “Castlevania: Symphony of the Night”—a game which features absolutely none of the features mentioned--I’ve come to consider a certain question.

Are today’s games handholding players too much?

Now, I get it, if a game isn’t accessible, nobody’s going to spend the time and effort to spend time with it. Why dabble in something you don’t understand, right? Still, though, comparing the games of yesteryear to games now, it seems there are many mechanics that are geared toward ensuring that the player doesn’t really have to worry too much about dying, failing or losing progress.

In a way, that’s really good. Last year’s “Super Mario Odyssey” did away with the “Super Mario” franchise’s long-running mechanic involving limited lives that, once depleted, would boot a player out of the current level and force him or her to restart. The choice is certainly a boon to young children or inexperienced gamers who want to get all of that game’s Power Moons to get that 100% completion rate without having to constantly ask, “But do I have enough lives?”

However, I can definitely see where these features might diminish some of the enjoyment in a game. In last year’s Japanese role-playing game “Persona 5,” I was surprised to find a difficulty called “Safety,” wherein the player is unable to get a game over from dying and can continue to battle an infinite number of times. In the world of first-person shooter games like the “Call of Duty” franchise, players can take comfort in the fact that they can just camp behind something for a little while and wait for their health to come back, unlike in old-school shooters like 1993’s “Doom,” where health items must be consumed to keep yourself from dying.

I feel that some of these mechanics are perhaps a little too lenient--to the point where challenge is nonexistent. The cases in which the easier mechanics do work are counterbalanced by the fact that there is still challenge; in “Mario Odyssey,” Power Moons are almost never in plain sight, and if you want all of them, you better get to looking and learning the platforming tricks, lest you want to die constantly and waste time. Compare that to “Persona 5,” a reasonably challenging game on any other difficulty but almost pointless on “Safety.” I understand the gesture--trying to allow the inexperienced crowd to experience the rich story and characters of the RPG without the fear of a game over--but there’s no point to the combat nor using and learning it effectively if there is literally no penalty for failure.

It is indeed 2018, not the late 90s, and games have obviously changed a lot since then. But remember why games became a thing in the first place: because they challenged us. I’m not saying every game needs to have instant-death traps or enemies with thirty times as much health as you; that’s artificial difficulty. I’m talking about pitting the player against seemingly overwhelming odds that he or she can only beat with an understanding and creative use of the game’s mechanics.

When I got to the top of Bowser’s Castle and defeated the titular turtle-dragon at the end of “Super Mario World,” I felt that I had accomplished something. I braved a gauntlet of some of the most difficult platforming challenges in the game and a multi-stage boss to earn that ending. In the aforementioned “Symphony of the Night,” I broke the forces of Dracula with weapons and techniques that I searched long and hard for and I mastered. After vigorous training and leveling up, I toppled the combined might of the ruthless Team Rainbow Rocket in “Pokemon Ultra Moon.” Just for some modern context.

All of this was accomplished without the game giving me answers, without regenerating health and without purchasing some winning item through microtransactions.

Gamers of all skill levels like games that feel rewarding--like you’ve actually slain a dragon or rescued a princess or laid waste to a whole army of baddies. Many games feel that rewarding because of the trials the player is put through; trials that check to make sure you’ve been paying attention since day one and know what you’re doing. Rewarding games never hand victory over to the player willingly, even if it means inducing rage and disappointment in said player. Yes, as much as we might hate it, it is okay to lose or get stuck--all it does is make it that much sweeter when you give those that boss his just desserts or finally crack that puzzle.

Casuals and hardcore gamers alike should both be allowed to enjoy games, that’s true. But what’s doubly true is that you should feel some sort of catharsis from overcoming obstacles. That’s what makes games memorable and great, no matter how good or bad you are at them.