A valuable item doesn’t make things possible; it makes them easier.

Locks and keys are the clumsiest of obstacles, and they take many forms. If it is impossible to enter a dungeon without a wand that can burn the surrounding bushes, and the wand serves little purpose other than to permit the player access, then it is little but a key. A key holds no practical value; its value is symbolic of a current lack of hindrance — and in its subtext, it speaks to the player of helplessness in the face of an arbitrary and contrived world, built to impede the player rather than to provide opportunities to explore and learn.

The items that become treasures are those that expand the player’s horizons by allowing the player to transcend the routine and inhabit the world on a higher level. They don’t unlock basic functions so much as they provide a better way of doing things. Much as a good home appliance relieves a person from the burdens of daily maintenance, Link’s recorder relieves the player from having to continually walk familiar terrain. His magic key means no more worrying about keys. His wand means no more worrying about sword beams. Add the magic book, and no more fussing with candles either.

Perhaps the greatest treasure in a recent game, Gordon Freeman’s gravity gun makes everything in the world both tactile and potentially useful.

Unlike previous Gradius games, in Gradius V losing your power-ups is a setback rather than a death sentence. All it means is that you have to be more careful. Likewise gaining power-ups means that you can relax and better appreciate the game’s nuances, but beyond that insight the player misses nothing crucial by failing or refusing to upgrade.

There is a place for locked doors, both literal and functional — but think about why you’re using them.