The first time I played Super Metroid was either in 1999 or 2000. While I had gotten an SNES in 1996 (after the N64 had already come out) I got my N64 just the next year, so those two console generations - which represented a pretty big jump - kind of overlapped for me. I was familiar with Mario and Zelda, but it was 1999's Super Smash Bros. that introduced me to Samus. After she became my favorite fighter in Smash, I decided to check out one of her titles, and the only one that was on a console I owned was Super Metroid. I got a used cartridge for 5 bucks. Probably the best 5 bucks I ever spent.
Nowadays, Super Metroid is remembered as an absolute classic. It's the Metroid game that most ROM hacks use as their foundation. It has a killer soundtrack and a fantastic world design. While the first title probably invented the Metroidvania genre (the other half, Castlevania, wouldn't actually work like one until the PS1 era's Symphony of the Night, which I've never actually played) Super Metroid is maybe the most quintessential example.
What is a Metroidvania?
Well, for context, in the SNES era, most games were divided into discrete levels. Even a relatively open-world game like The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past still put you into dungeons that were kind of separate from the rest of the world - you could be confident that once you got inside a dungeon, you would find all the tools you needed to beat it within.
Metroidvanias place the character in a large and complex environment, but only give you access to a small part of it initially. The player must search that territory for items and upgrades that enhance their abilities and open up new paths. In Metroid games (the recent Dread actually being an exception,) the first upgrade you tend to get is the Morph Ball, which allows our badass armored space bounty hunter to roll into a sphere and quickly travel through narrow crevasses (this series staple was actually because they were struggling to give Samus a crawling animation in the NES original). So, your experience with these games begins by funneling you to that first item, with various barricades and obstacles that cannot be overcome until you get the next item in the sequence. (That said, the designers often put in extra-challenging ways for knowledgeable players to break that sequence, which is how you get people who do "backwards" runs of Super Metroid where they beat the four major area bosses in the opposite order of how the game expect you to do it).
Having beaten Resident Evil 2's remake recently (Leon's first run and Claire's second) I was trying to decide if it counted as a Metroidvania. The answer is kinda-sorta. With the exception of the Nest lab at the end, the whole game is one interconnected map, with the baroque police department headquarters up on the surface level and a vast sewer complex below. These connect in unexpected ways, and until you get on the tram that takes you to the Nest, you can always return to the RPD's main lobby that acts as the real start of the game for Leon (other than a prologue that takes place in locations you cannot revisit - just as Samus cannot return to the destroyed Ceres Station in Super Metroid).
The distinction I might make here, though, is that the key items and opened passages in RE2 are not based on abilities you gain that aid you in other ways (with rare exceptions like how getting a combat knife allows you to cut through some tape over a control panel). There's no use for the various card-suit keys other than opening the doors with those locks on them, and RE2 lets you know when a key item is safe to discard, meaning that these don't enhance your abilities over time - they are only useful in the finite instances for which they are intended. Not only do you no longer need a pair of bolt cutters after you cut the three or four chains holding doors closed, but the bolt cutters cannot be used for any other purpose, and just jam up your inventory space, incentivizing you to toss them (and unlike a Skyrim-like game, the item vanishes from the world when it's discarded).
Still, the structure of these games are both about exploring a space in a kind of sequence that gradually opens that space up. Part of the challenge of the game is that you don't know what that sequence is initially, and so when you get a new tool, you need to consider all the locations where you saw barriers that that new tool can overcome (newer games in these genres often mark such places on a map).
This structure isn't limited to Metroidvanias - Silent Hill 2's remake (yes, I've spent a lot of the last year or so familiarizing myself with the classics of the Survival Horror genre through their recent remakes) puts you in "dungeon" like environments that need to kind of be solved like a big puzzle, but once you depart, you don't come back to them - the overall structure is linear even if individual chapters require backtracking.
Anyway, I think part of what I love about DMing D&D is the opportunity to be an amateur game designer. I know nothing about the digital tools required to build video games, but I like to think I've absorbed a lot of game design philosophy over my very soon to be four decades.
D&D began in the 1970s, and while there were rudimentary computer games at the time, the revolutionary development of the medium in the 1980s had not yet taken place. Still, I think that those dungeons that people built back then were in many ways the blueprint for a lot of these exploration-heavy video games.
But I also don't think that it totally works, because of the generalities built into D&D that might clash with dungeon challenges:
Consider keys:
In RE2, finding keys is a huge part of the game. Leon and Claire each find three of the four card-suit keys (there's one exclusive to each of them, Clubs for Leon and Hearts for Claire) and there are plenty of other keys to find, as well as lots of items that might not be literal keys, but are effectively (like the aforementioned bolt cutters).
In D&D, picking locks is a valuable skill that Rogues in particular tend to be good at. Rogues and Artificers (as well as PCs from some backgrounds) start with a set of Thieves' Tools, and the expectation for those characters is that they're going to be able to use those tools to get around the need for a key. Wizards (and maybe other classes?) can get the Knock spell. And any character could try to use an Athletics check to just knock a door down, ignoring the challenge of the lock.
D&D is built to allow imaginative and creative solutions to problems. Metroidvania design is about discovering the intended path that is obscured by its expansive world. Straying from that path might reward you by finding optional collectables - the missile expansions or energy tanks that give you more longterm combat power, for instance.
As a DM, it's kind of an unspoken covenant with your players that if the course of action they describe makes sense with the logic of the world, you must at the very least allow them to attempt to take that course of action. It might be mitigated by a roll, and extreme actions (like battering down a reinforced door) might be met with extreme difficulty, but generally not impossibility. You might say that one important door is impossible to knock down, but your players will start to get impatient with you if say that every door is impossible to knock down, especially because there are in-game tools that they might have acquired to do just that (like a battering ram, a real item that has a gold cost and everything).
I had a moment like this - frustration at having all my character abilities shut down but also appreciation for what the DM was looking for me to do:
My Triton Wizard, in his backstory, was informed of a hidden Age of Arcanum facility called the Cryptorium. The sentient book that sent him on his adventure (and trained him in the Order of Scribes and acts as his Manifest Mind,) and who was originally a living human wizard from long ago, thought that the other members of his ancient order (also turned into books) could be found there. It was the dungeon that I had basically written into my backstory, and truly, my DM (who is also my best friend) did an amazing job with the conceptualization of it (I had given only the name, but the place was built into the lakebed of the Erdeloch in the Dwendalian Empire, and was a sort of magically-high-tech underwater facility, which also gave my Triton some time to feel cool swimming around).
The central challenge of the dungeon was to gradually go up through its levels (it was basically an underground tower carved into a solid piece of rock, entered at the bottom through a submarine docking bay). When we noticed a hole in the ceiling of the central chamber where a hovering disc elevator ought to go, naturally my first instinct was just to cast Fly on myself and secure a rope at the top.
But that would mean skipping the intended solution, which was more fun. So, in a manner I suspect was sort of improvised, the central chamber of the Cryptorium now had an antimagic field. I pointed out that we had fought a monster in that base level of the central chamber, during which I had cast a cantrip, so the field was revised to allow cantrips, just not higher-level spells.
It was, you know, railroading.
However, as we explored that level, we came to one room in which a great glass window looked out into the murky water of the lake. And a lightbulb went off in my head:
If we broke the glass, the water would flood in, and we could swim up through the hole.
This, it turned out, was the intended solution. And even if it was kind of forced upon us in an awkward way, I freaking loved it. Once again, this was tailor-made for my character, who both has a swim speed and can breathe underwater. The rest of the party had to work a little harder - while I had Water Breathing running on everyone as a matter of course given our location, the rush of water was a hazard, and we also needed to ensure that we had collected and protected any valuables we could find that might be harmed by the water.
Now, this isn't really a Metroidvania-style solution. While we would quickly recognize that flooding a floor gave us access to the next floor (something we repeated once or twice to get to the top of the facility) and so could more easily get past the rest of the dungeon, it wasn't some tool that we could use more universally.
And I think that's because D&D's design is not really built for that.
In 5E, player power comes predominantly from our class, and our overall build. Magic items usually enhance those things: a Vicious Weapon still plugs into a Fighter's overall strategy of "hit things with weapon" and rather than transforming how they do what they do or when they can use it, it just amplifies the effect.
I could imagine a campaign in which you introduce monsters that can only be defeated with some special kind of, say, poison, but because the game design has to be modular and generalized, you're never going to get a big monster book with that built in.
To take another RE2 example: in the final stretch of the game, you encounter Plant Zombies. These things will not die unless they burn to a charred crisp (I think - I read somewhere that if you destroy all of their bulbs they won't come back, but I always burned them). With fire as the only means to permanently destroy them, you're incentivized to conserve either the fuel for Leon's flamethrower or the Incendiary Rounds in Claire's chemical launcher.
A rough equivalent in D&D is a Troll's regeneration ability. Trolls cannot die as long as they can continue to regenerate HP. But to turn that off, you can hit them with Fire or Acid damage, both of which are damage types that a spellcaster can get in cantrip form. If you have that available, there's no need to use up any limited resource to ensure you're free of their threat.
Once again, the broad capabilities of D&D characters means that the DM has limited control over what solutions they can force the player into finding.
There are rare exceptions: Flameskulls come back to life after just 1 hour unless they are sprinkled with Holy Water or the Dispel Evil and Good spell is cast on them. While the latter is something that a player might happen to have on them and thus not be limited to some specific resource, it's a 5th level spell, and thus a pretty significant sacrifice of future power.
But cantrips and tools have the potential to disrupt this kind of puzzle-box dungeon.
I don't think it's impossible, but you might have to really go outside the box on what kind of obstacles you set up. Magic is a good start, but even that can be countered by things like Dispel Magic. Even impenetrable physical barriers can potentially be bypassed with things like Stone Shape, Dimension Door, or Passwall.
Certainly, these spells consume spell slots as important resources, but those are also resources that might come back if the players find a way to take a rest inside of a dungeon (like with a Mordenkainen's Magnificent Mansion spell).
I think my conclusion here is that while you can take a lot of inspiration from the puzzle-box dungeons found in Metroidvania and similar games, on a basic level, D&D is not really built for that kind of experience. A more stripped-down game might make it work. But D&D is very much built to allow players to improvise and color outside of the lines. That's very fun in its own way - as a DM, I'm always excited when my players come up with a solution I never thought of - but it does mean that the experience is going to feel different.