Sometime in May 1986, Japanese arcades saw the release of a brawler called Nekketsu Kōha Kunio-kun (roughly meaning Hot-Blooded Tough Guy Kunio in English). It stars Kunio, a miscreant high school student who fights to defend a classmate being picked on by rival gangs.

The game is notable for being the first brawler to feature an urban setting and for introducing many trademarks common to the genre—the tough-guy protagonist, themes of street justice, generic thugs, female villains, and so on. Nekketsu Kōha Kunio-kun underwent significant revisions for its Western release and subsequent NES port, including a name change to Renegade and a story that was wholly disconnected from its source material.

In this version of the game, you are Mr. K—a regular guy harassed by street gangs for no real reason. Beyond simple punches and kicks, he has a variety of moves at his disposal, including collar grabs, shoulder throws, punching downed enemies, and attacking adjacent thugs when an enemy has him in a hold. He wasn’t looking for trouble, but trouble sure was looking for him. Not being one to back down from a fight, he decides it’s time to put these punks in their place, Mr. K’s way.

Renegade exudes a strong 50s greaser vibe. The rock-and-roll themes across most levels pair nicely with the game’s setting, especially given the Japanese version’s theme of high-school delinquency. In addition, the game is pretty realistic in its portrayal of how a street fight would go down. The thugs you battle don’t just politely stand there waiting for you to gain the upper hand. Instead, they’ll quickly surround you, requiring your constant awareness of their positioning on either side.

After you defeat a foe, another one soon jumps into the fray. When fighting a boss, you have to whittle down their life bar before performing some of your fancier moves. Otherwise, they’ll either push you away or surprise you with a reversal of whatever you were trying to do.

The controls may initially take some getting used to. The functions of the A and B buttons constantly change, depending on the direction your character is facing. For example, when facing right, the A button is your punch, and the B button is your kick. But when facing the left, the button functions are reversed. Also, your character automatically turns toward the nearest enemy.

While it may be a bit confusing at first, the controls work well once you get acclimated. With a bit of practice, you’ll be able to throw punches at the enemy in front of you while kicking the other guy (or gal) attacking from behind, in addition to the other moves mentioned above. Renegade also features an early example of interactive environments in a fighting game.

Stages one and two take place on raised platforms. If you can manage to kick or throw an enemy over the edge, they’re gone for good. Of course, the same applies to Mr. K too, so fighter beware. However, when used skillfully, the environments can work to your advantage and save precious seconds on the clock.

Despite its good qualities, Renegade is hampered by spotty collision detection. Your attacks don’t always connect the way they should; meanwhile, the enemy can easily land punches in quick succession. Therefore, simply walking up to an enemy on the same horizontal plane is a tremendously risky move. Thugs are constantly swarming you, and there’s no recovery time between hits or knockdowns. It can easily lead to situations where you’re hopelessly stunlocked if you don’t quickly put some distance between yourself and the enemy after taking a hit.

The game has a rather esoteric power-up system that involves performing certain moves at precise moments in sync with the timer. For instance, you can gain a health replenishment item only after you kick a wall when the last two digits of the timer are a specific number, which also changes depending on the stage you’re on.

Similar rules apply to other items that boost Mr. K’s attack power in some way. It’s an interesting gameplay mechanic in theory, but it’s also highly dependent on the player having an instruction manual handy to know how to make these power-ups appear.

Overall, Renegade is a competent game in its own right. In a sea of imitators, it stood out as a true originator. The gameplay elements have since been copied or paid homage to in the plethora of brawlers that followed. The lack of balance due to uneven collision detection and an arcane implementation of assistive power-ups puts a slight dampener on enjoying the game. But at a mere four stages in length, the game at least respects your time, making its deficiencies less of a slog to endure.

And besides, without Renegade, there would be no River City Ransom—a game that more than made up for the faults of this one. If you’re looking to own Renegade, it’s currently available as part of the Double Dragon and Kunio Kun Retro Brawler Bundle on the Switch and PS4. A no-brainer purchase if you’re a fan of Technos brawlers. Bottom line: if you want to study the history of brawlers, Renegade should be at the top of your list.

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On a related note…

My first memories of OutRun are somewhat vague, but still intact. I was around five or six years old at the time, hanging out with friends and family at a bowling alley. I found my way into the arcade section, where a couple of my buddies were gathered around the OutRun cabinet. It was thrilling to see that red sports car flying down the road as the wind rushed through the driver’s and his girlfriend’s hair. We laughed when the car crashed, ejecting them harmlessly onto the pavement.

We joked about how disappointed the girlfriend must have been in the driver. It’s such a silly memory, but one that reminds me of the power of Sega’s arcade games. Despite never having the chance to play OutRun that night (or for many years after), just seeing it in action was enough to spark my imagination to the point of conjuring a hypothetical moment between the two on-screen characters.

Sega’s talent for making fun racing games translated well for the most part on the Genesis version. Besides the lack of high-resolution scaling 3D effects and the omission of any engine noises coming from your own car, everything else remained intact. The game begins with you selecting one of four music tracks, and then it’s time for the rubber to hit the road in your Ferrari Testarossa.

Instead of being saddled with the requirement of finishing the race in 1st place, the game does away with any distinction concerning your placement or rank in comparison to the other cars on the road. They’re only there to get in your way and make a nuisance of navigating the many S-curves on the course.

Your only real opponent is the clock that starts counting down as soon as you start the race. Of course, crashing into the numerous signposts and structures on the side of the road at high speeds is also ill-advised, for obvious reasons. But perhaps the most outstanding feature of OutRun is the idea behind the design of the whole race.

Your goal is to drive through a series of checkpoints until you reach the finish line (something Rad Racer would later borrow). Most racing games of that time featured several stand-alone linear courses to race around in. But in OutRun, you’re actually driving on one whole course that fans out into 15 branching roads or stages. As you drive toward the checkpoint leading to the next section, the road begins to fork, and you’ll need to decide if you want to take the left or right branching point.

Of these 15 stages, only five can be chosen during the current race, leading to different ending sequences depending on which finish line you cross. What I like best about the game is that you choose your path on the fly, so to speak. It allows the player some room for spontaneity. Granted, the Gran Turismos and Forza Horizons of the world have outpaced the extensiveness of choices presented in OutRun. But it stands to reason that developers like Sega proved that such a feature was a viable innovation well before the more recent racing games were even conceived.

Compared to the arcade version, the races are fairly easy to finish thanks to the option to change the difficulty settings. Adjusting the game to its easiest mode gives you more time on the clock and fewer cars on the road to contend with. The harder difficulty settings stick you with less time and more cars to maneuver around. No matter what degree of challenge you prefer, you will still have to be aware of the various curves and layouts of the stages ahead of you. And that’s where the other half of the fun becomes apparent.

If you’re playing OutRun for the first time, it may be a little frustrating as you’re trying to last long enough to make it to the finish line. But after some practice, you can confidently take those steep turns and S-curves with little effort. The game itself isn’t very long, and any course can be completed in under 10 minutes, which is perfect since it features multiple branching points and endings.

The next pillar of strength was the game’s impressive graphics. Despite not having 3D scaling effects on the sprites, the Genesis version of OutRun shows a better color palette and more detailed background scenery to match. If you go back and look at the original arcade version, the colors aren’t quite as pronounced as they are on the Genesis. But besides the visual presentation, the very act of transitioning from scenery to lush scenery is quite entertaining.

I never found myself getting bored with my surroundings because I usually reach the next checkpoint before a full minute has passed. If you meet certain conditions before reaching the second checkpoint, a fighter jet briefly flies ahead of you and disappears as a gleam on the horizon. Small nuggets like that add just the right touch to a home console driving game.

Cementing the gameplay and visual presentation is the music that accompanies you throughout the races. Composed by Hiroshi Miyauchi, the soundtrack in OutRun sticks with you long after you’ve turned the game off. As it was in the arcade version, you can choose from several musical selections—“Magical Sound Shower”, “Passing Breeze”, and “Splash Wave”. My personal favorite is Splash Wave. It really stands out from the typical music styles found in home console racing games of that era.

In addition to the three music tracks from the arcade version, a fourth track named “Step on Beat” was included exclusively for the Genesis version. What makes the music so unforgettable is the 80’s Latin/Caribbean style, very reminiscent of bands like Miami Sound Machine. The tune has the perfect flow to go with driving down the coastline.

The only criticism I can lob against OutRun is regarding the car’s completely silent engine. It’s a rather strange omission for a game whose central purpose with replicate the thrill of driving a sports car. Though you can hear the tires when shifting gears or screeching around corners, I want to hear those horses running under the hood as I barrel down the road. The absence of that audio detail makes the game feel like it’s lacking that extra “oomph” that connects you to the action. It’s a bit ironic, given that the Sega Genesis was advertised as bringing the authentic Sega arcade experience into the home.

Aside from the missing engine sounds, OutRun deserves much respect as the driving game that pioneered the “common man” style of racing. Instead of being an F-1 race driver or something similar, the game simply depicts something closer to what it’s like on the road in everyday life. Sure, most of us don’t drive a Ferrari, but you get the idea. There are usually other cars and trucks on the road, as well as road signs directing you to go either left or right. OutRun perfectly captured the essence of driving that any guy (or gal) enjoys. If you love 80’s arcade racing games, then OutRun is a must for your Genesis collection.

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My introduction to Metroid was a staggered one. As I mentioned in the previous article, it began as more of a cursory glance. It was sometime in the early 90s, most likely around summer 1990. I was at the home of one of Big Brother’s friends. Descending the wooden stairs into the basement, I noticed a small group gathered around the TV watching someone playing the NES. Taking a curious peek at the screen, I saw what looked like an astronaut jumping up a vertical shaft of golden platforms and shooting insect-like creatures with his arm.

A few moments later, someone reset the game and entered a password. Now I’m seeing a green-haired lady jumping around instead of the astronaut dude. It was at that moment that I suddenly noticed a particular sound effect. Each time she jumped, I thought she was saying “oops!”, as if apologizing for reasons unknown to me.

I don’t know which of Big Brother’s friends was playing the game, but they got the poor girl ripped to shreds within a few short minutes of the game starting. I clearly remember thinking that the astronaut guy was stronger and better prepared for the task at hand. Of course, I’d later learn that the “guy” in the space suit and the green-haired lady were the same person. Her name was Samus Aran, and she was way cooler than I realized at the time.

Funny enough, I didn’t see the name of the game on the title screen, and no one said it out loud (that I recall anyway). As the years marched on, the occasion faded from memory. I thought it was just a figment of my imagination, a misremembered game with no name. And although I did play Metroid II on the Game Boy a year or so later, it was different enough that my mind didn’t make the connection just yet.

Core Memory Unlocked!

Let’s skip ahead to spring or summer 1995. I’m 10 years old at this point, and again at the home of some friends of the family. This time, it’s an elderly couple with grandkids who visit from time to time. After dinner, the couple invited me to play some video games in the basement while they and my parents discussed whatever adults talked about back then.

Any curiosity I had about such things dissipated once I reached the bottom of the stairs. Because what game system should I see but an original NES hooked up to the TV? Shuffling through the small stack of games next to it, I lo and behold find Metroid sitting in the pile.

By this point, I had already played through Metroid II and achieved the best ending. Seeing the pixelated artwork on the Metroid cartridge sparked my curiosity to see the game for myself. So in the game went into the NES! Once it started, I immediately recognized that this was the same game I thought I had forgotten for years.

My mind started connecting the dots regarding the identity of the two seemingly unrelated characters I saw so long ago. What I assumed was a male astronaut and a “less-capable” female counterpart turned out to be Samus Aran, whom I enjoyed getting to know on the Game Boy. As elated as I was to make the connection finally, I didn’t get very far in my initial run. I was unprepared for the hardships of navigating near-identical corridors and shafts in a hostile environment with only a fraction of her energy points.

A little later that same year, another friend of the family, knowing I liked Nintendo games, offered to get me an NES from the Goodwill superstore where he worked, since they were plentiful and dirt-cheap by then. About a week or so later, he came by our house with the NES. I remember the cartridge tray hinge wouldn’t stay in the locked position, so I always had to insert another cartridge to hold the other game in place. Metroid was one of the games he included with the NES. This time, I was determined to see it through to the end. There was no excuse not to at this point.

The Dunning-Kruger Effect in Full Effect

I initially assumed that the game would be a walk in the park. “After all”, I thought to myself, “if I was able to conquer Metroid II, then this first game should be no sweat!” Little did I realize just how different a beast Metroid was from the sequel. At first, things went fairly well. Samus fades into her starting point, and off I go as the triumphant music spurs me on to explore Brinstar’s rocky zone.

After several failed attempts (aka deaths), I felt like I was really starting to get the hang of it. Did I find the Morph Ball? Check. Missiles? Got it. Extra energy tanks (all two of them at this point)? Yuppers. Ice Beam? You betcha. Emboldened by my string of successes, I soon reached something Metroid II didn’t prepare me for—an elevator. Upon my descent into Kraid’s hideout, the triumphant music abruptly changed to something far more ominous and foreboding. A herald of the dread I would soon experience as soon as I stepped off the elevator.1

Here, the enemies hit harder. The initial rooms were mostly identical, inducing confusion and curbing any sense of forward progress. The brief victory of finding the few missiles I managed to collect was quickly overshadowed, as Samus was soon overwhelmed by the deadly mix of Sidehoppers and those pipe-dwelling, endlessly respawning Geegas continually attacking her in narrow spaces.

By the time I bumbled my way into meeting Kraid for the first time, Samus was in no condition to fight. Yup, you guessed it. Kraid’s endless barrage of spikes and claws made minced meat of her on the first encounter. And the second. And the sixth. This recurring cycle well sums up the rest of my time spent trying to beat Metroid at this juncture in my life.

“Error Try Again”

As I’m sure most of you are aware, the concept of saving game data on the NES came down to two methods (if at all)—a battery-backed cartridge save or a password system. If the game used the battery method, then you were golden as long as the NES was powered down properly (hold the reset button, then press the power button). But if the game employed a password system, may God have mercy on your soul.

It wasn’t unusual for a game to require you to record multiple lines of alphanumeric characters to pick up where you left off. And if you accidentally wrote down the password wrong by just one character, you could kiss that afternoon’s worth of progress goodbye. No game taught me that lesson better than Metroid.

I remember dying after having collected multiple energy tanks and missiles. As I recorded the password, one character was hard to make out visually. At the time, I thought it was the female gender symbol (♀), and I did my best to jot it down as such.

Turns out it was actually a lowercase “g”, but I couldn’t tell at the time because I couldn’t compare it to the full set of characters shown when entering a password. Bye-bye, last hour and change spent collecting upgrades. I hardly knew thee. C’est la vie.

Now here’s the part where things get a little timey-whimey in my recollection. While I did beat the game, I don’t clearly recall doing so without help from either the Game Genie or a password I found on SegaSages (anybody remember that website?) to skip to the final area without having to battle Ridley or activate the Kraid and Ridley statues. I know this because I was completely unaware of the statue room until I played Super Metroid about a year after I had played through most of Metroid.

Bomb Voyage

Flash forward to fall/winter 2002. I had finally found stable employment that paid decently for a 17-year-old with no bills. A nostalgic hankering leads me to purchase an NES again, having traded my old one for a Sega Genesis many moons ago. Once again, Metroid is one of the first games in my collection. And once again, I’m determined to beat this game using nothing but my wits and will this time.

One evening, after getting hopelessly lost and exhausting the limits of tried-and-true platformer gameplay, I wondered to myself if there was anything I could draw from my experience with Metroid II. I thought back to the times I’d bomb a section of the floor in the Chozo rooms and would sometimes discover a hidden area.

I figured, “Well if it worked in the sequel, maybe it also works here.” Applying that nugget of prior knowledge led me to recognize the importance of bombing certain floor sections in Metroid, which, in turn, helped me find new paths where they had previously seemed dead ends.

I had now learned that this method of exploration is essential to reach crucial upgrades and to find Ridley hidden in the molten depths of Norfair. As the pieces of the puzzle were coming together in my mind, that’s when I began to appreciate the game’s design, esoteric as it may be. There was something truly satisfying about finding my way based on a hunch that turned out to be the very thing that cracked Norfair wide open for me.

After finding the Screw Attack and making my way through the surprisingly easy battle with Ridley, I was ready for the endgame. I headed to the final area, exterminated the eponymous Metroids, and defeated their would-be master (or is it mistress?), Mother Brain. I make the great escape. Samus waves goodbye. Staff credits roll. I put down the controller, with a slight grin, basking in the victory.

The Influence

Two lessons stick with me to this day. First, Metroid taught me not to assume that a game is easier than its sequel just because it’s older. More was required than just an understanding of the basic concepts from my experience with Metroid II. The manner in which those concepts were implemented in the original game was completely different.

Could Samus still jump, shoot, acquire upgrades, and save her progress? Sure. But there were unexpected caveats, such as not being able to shoot downward while jumping. She starts with nothing but a small fraction of health points, even when resuming from a password save. This, in turn, meant that each game session required refilling her energy, which takes longer the more reserves she collects throughout the course of the game.

And let’s not forget the possibility of repeatedly going back into areas with pesky enemies because you aren’t sure of the best way to move forward. It would inevitably lead to Samus being picked apart during repeated encounters, and I’d have to start over and remember which way to go (or not go) all over again. Like a stallion that needed to be broken to reach its full potential, my confidence in my “skills” was shattered and then rebuilt from the ground up.

Playing under those conditions while navigating unfamiliar territory felt equal parts humbling and informative. I was learning a lot about my perception of game design while playing a series in reverse chronological order.

As my initial overconfidence eventually settled, the second lesson became ever clearer. Metroid wasn’t in my house. Rather, I was a guest in its house. And it demanded that I take off my shoes and show some respect. Perhaps best of all, its esoteric nature did much to ensure that my time spent with Super Metroid would be one of the most impressive first-time experiences, which only further fueled my enthusiasm for video games as the preferred entertainment medium.

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With its deceptively easy gameplay and deep exploration, The Legend of Zelda marked several firsts for Nintendo and for the video game industry. It was one of the first Famicom Disk System games to hit Japan on this day in February 1986, offering the ability to save progress without the need for a password system.

When it debued North America in 1987, it was released on a golden cartridge featuring a small backup battery to save progress—making it the first game to use the technology. But most importantly, it was the first game to truly revolutionize the action/adventure genre with elements that would be borrowed from (and ripped off) for years to come.

This game, much like Mega Man 2 and Super Mario Bros., has been reviewed, praised, and worshiped to death. If you pay a visit to any retro gaming websites, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a write-up that doesn’t drool over the genre-defining legacy that series creator Shigeru Miyamoto established. There was once a time, however, when Miyamoto was not a name familiar to most NES owners—despite having played several of his previous games—and The Legend of Zelda was just a game starring a kid wearing a funny green hat.

Our story begins in the kingdom of Hyrule, where Ganon has stolen the Triforce of Power and plans to plunge the world into darkness under his rule. Princess Zelda split the remaining Triforce of Wisdom into eight fragments and spread them throughout the land to prevent Ganon from getting his grubby hands on it. In retaliation, he imprisoned Zelda, preventing her from interfering with his plans. It’s up to Link to find the pieces of the Triforce of Wisdom, defeat Ganon, rescue Zelda, and restore peace to Hyrule.

You’ll guide Link as he travels between the Hyrule overworld and nine dungeons that house the pieces of the Triforce he needs to collect. Above and below ground are filled with now-familiar enemies such as the rock-spitting Octoroks, spear-happy Moblins, shield-eating Like Likes (which nobody likes), and downright creepy Wallmasters, all of which got their start here.

The game features a simple but effective fighting system. At all times, Link has access to his sword (obtained in a cave near your starting position) and shield. When his health is at full strength, Link can throw his sword across the screen, which is great when you want to keep your distance from the enemy.

As you progress through the game, you’ll collect an abundance of secondary items—many of which are invaluable additions to your arsenal. The boomerang is a perfect example: once obtained, you’ll have an easier time fighting multiple enemies because you can strategically stun [most of] them and then finish them off with your sword.

Other items, such as the bow and arrow, bombs, and many others (too many to mention here) remain relevant throughout the duration of the game. When first playing through the game, I was quite surprised by how integral the secondary items were to completing the dungeons.

Link automatically has his shield at the ready when you’re not attacking with the sword or certain other secondary items. Thankfully, it deflects objects like spears and stones, making the shield more than just cosmetic to Link’s character sprite.

Both the shield and the sword can be upgraded to better serve your offensive and defensive needs. The Legend of Zelda offers you the flexibility to finish it without ever upgrading your equipment; however, it’s much more enjoyable once you find the various upgrades.

What I found interesting was the surprising sense of accomplishment that comes so early in the adventure. You feel like a real winner with the now-famous “item catch” fanfare that plays when doing simple things like obtaining Link’s basic sword, getting the ladder, or collecting a letter to give to a certain old lady.

But that was nothing compared to the feeling of grandeur after collecting a Triforce piece. When I played this for the first time in 2002, I remember briefly thinking I had won the game after completing the first dungeon, thanks to the appropriately triumphant music. The Legend of Zelda is a game that wants you to savor the victory.

The nine dungeons are fairly well designed, with a compass and map hidden within each to guide you to the Triforce piece housed therein. Interestingly, these two helpful items don’t completely take the mystery out of exploring the dungeons. Certain doors are accessible only after all enemies in the current room are defeated. Some stairways are hidden until you push a block in the correct direction to reveal that room’s secret.

Best of all, the enemies and bosses guarding the Triforce often have unique weaknesses that need to be exploited to defeat them. And even after you learn the weaknesses of your enemies, most still need to be approached with caution, or you can find yourself in a perilous predicament very quickly. I still get a little nervous when I’m low on health and have to fight a room full of Darknuts.

With all of the admirable qualities that can be found in the inaugural Zelda title, there is one aspect that didn’t age quite as gracefully—the non-linear approach. Or rather, I should say that it was the execution of the non-linear approach. After all, it’s great that you’re not forced to attack each dungeon in a strict order, and you are free to roam around Hyrule to your heart’s content. But when it comes time to hunker down and finish the quest, things can come to a screeching halt once you realize that you don’t know what the heck you’re supposed to do next.

Sure, you’ll get occasional cryptic clues from old people in caves and dark rooms. But am I really supposed to know that some guy telling me that “Spectacle Rock is an entrance to death“ is creepy-old-man-speak for “place a bomb on one of the otherwise innocuous boulders somewhere at the top of the overworld map to access the final dungeon“? No way.

You can expect to find stellar advice like that throughout the game. And while the difficulty may have been just right back when people cared if you beat a game on your own or not, it simply doesn’t matter much nowadays to the average player who is more interested in finishing the game than winning the admiration of his school buddies.

The visual style, while quite primitive by today’s standards, was perfect for its time. The creatures that inhabit the land of Hyrule were quite unusual compared to the usual line-up found in most fantasy adventure games back then. I had never known of any other game (at the time) that had characters quite as unusual as the floating Peahat or the odd-looking Pols Voice.

Exploring each area is quite enjoyable, thanks to smooth screen-to-screen scrolling. I also liked the way Link was engulfed in a black backdrop every time he found one of the Triforce fragments. It really amplifies the feeling of a job well done each time you complete a dungeon.

To say the audio in The Legend of Zelda was good would be a bit of an understatement. What’s ironic is that there isn’t much variety in the way of multiple musical scores. There are really only two main pieces of music that play throughout the majority of the game: the overworld and dungeon themes. Even so, they are catchy tunes and make for the perfect accompaniment to the action. The music for the overworld sections has become a ubiquitous feature throughout the life of the Zelda series. The sound effects are also quite memorable as well, especially the whistle, whose sound later made its way into Super Mario Bros. 3.

The Legend of Zelda has become a well-respected, venerable series for good reason. This first game of many solidified the action/adventure genre and provided an unforgettable experience for anyone willing to devote their time to exploring the land of Hyrule. There were no menu commands to sort through, and no level-up system to dictate the growth of your character. Instead, the game featured the simple use of a sword and shield and left the rest up to you.

Just keep in mind that the game will not hold your hand with regard to where to go or how to accomplish certain key objectives. So don’t be ashamed to whip out the strategy guide or consult GameFAQs if need be. It’s well worth the time if you’re interested in seeing the series’ humble beginnings.

Ice Climber was one of the 18 launch titles to accompany the official release of the NES on October 18, 1985. This game was one of the less prestigious classics from the NES era that never reached my radar. I had never heard of it until 2004, when I started getting into Super Smash Bros. Melee on the GameCube. The Ice Climbers stood out to me since they were a duo of characters you controlled simultaneously. Their cutesy presentation won me over.

I still didn’t realize they were a deep cut from Nintendo’s past until Ice Climber was re-released on the Game Boy Advance later that same year. Finding myself intrigued, the game was an immediate purchase to add to my [still] paltry GBA library.

The main objective is to guide Popo (P1) and Nana (P2) to the top of the mountain while fending off enemies and avoiding hazards in their way. Each stage is divided into eight floors of ice, which you must break by busting through a section of said floor from below, thereby creating a vertical path upward. Above the 8th floor is a bonus area where you try to rack up additional points by collecting vegetables as you steadily make your way to the top while a timer counts down.

Once at the summit, you must hitch a ride on the flying condor that carries you to the next mountain. If you fall beyond the bottom of the bonus area or run out of time before reaching the condor, you’ll still move on to the next level. You just won’t get there in as much style as riding a big bird, showing everyone how cool you are. Though it does beg the question: if traveling by condor, why do the Ice Climbers always start the next stage at the foot of the next mountain? Do they just lose their grip and come tumbling down each time they grab a hold of the ‘ol bird? I guess some questions don’t have answers.

The two most persistent enemies in the game are the yeti creatures called Topi and the pesky red Nitpicker birds. The yeti constantly patrols the floor you are either on or trying to reach. If it discovers a hole on its current floor, the yeti will go back to its cave and return with a mound of ice to cover the gap (and any others it finds as well). Meanwhile, the avian Nitpickers flap their way across the screen, moving freely between floors.

As expected, both enemies are deadly to Popo and Nana upon contact. However, they can also be thwarted by hitting them with your handy-dandy mallet—the only means of defense against the hostilities of the mountain. Unfortunately, victory is short-lived, as defeated enemies quickly reappear a few seconds later.

The soundtrack is on par with the cheerfully frantic vibe of the early NES releases. The short loops of a few catchy tunes aptly complement the action on screen. I especially enjoy the jaunty rock ‘n’ roll motif in the music on the title screen and in bonus areas. It nicely contrasts the challenges of scaling an icy 8-bit mountain.

Hazards the Ice Climbers must avoid include icy floors that cause them to quickly slide in either direction (think conveyor belt mechanics in similar games). Vertical pillars hamper your freedom of movement, and ice sickles form and fall from the ceilings and moving clouds. Most of these hazards aren’t too difficult to manage around the other dangers Popo and Nana will confront.

However, the vertical pillar is particularly menacing. Any time you jump toward it, instead of bringing your character’s momentum to a stop, they bounce off the pillar in the opposite direction. This creates a problem when trying to coordinate your ascent to the next floor. Bouncing off a wall can easily cause you to fall down a chasm or smack into an enemy you were trying to evade.

If you linger around for too long without advancing the screen upward, you’ll meet the third antagonist, the polar bear. While not physically deadly to you, he serves the unique function of slamming the ground, causing the lowest floor to “collapse,” forcing you to get moving or perish should you still be on the lowest section when he shakes the ground.

These days, the idea of Nintendo ever releasing a first-party platformer with poor jumping mechanics is unfathomable—doubly so if we’re talking about anything that had Shigeru Miyamoto’s touch. But such was the case at the time, as Ice Climber was developed before Super Mario Bros. Miyamoto and crew hadn’t yet nailed down the physics of leaping across an abyss to reach higher ground, and boy does it show here.

Whether you’re trying to reach the next platform or simply cross a gap in the floor, your character jumps in a tight arc. The game doesn’t account for momentum based on the character’s speed at the time of the jump, causing it to feel inelegant and unnatural most of the time. The lack of momentum physics is especially problematic when attempting to leap from a cloud platform that’s moving in the opposite direction of the section you need to reach.

Establishing a firm footing when landing from a jump is particularly difficult if you land near the edge of a platform. It’s especially vexing during the timed bonus sections, where platforms are placed in such a way that players are constantly forced to take risky leaps. It often results in your character missing the higher ground due to what feels like a technicality, more so than a lack of accuracy on the part of the player.

The off-kilter jump mechanics come at a high cost, since they overshadow the other gameplay elements to the game’s detriment. It tends to have a demoralizing effect after the first few levels, and the realization sets in that it’s only going to get more difficult going forward with additional hazards that you won’t feel like navigating due to the frustration of trying to execute what should be a simple maneuver. It’s unfortunate because the game itself is otherwise pleasantly simple and conducive to longer gameplay sessions than the average player is likely to devote to it, thanks to the uneven jump physics.

While it’s true that Donkey Kong—another Nintendo platformer that predated Super Mario Bros.—didn’t have great jump physics either, the game didn’t require much more from you than leaping over barrels and across the occasional moving elevator. Ice Climber, on the other hand, puts a heavier emphasis on aerial platforming, which breeds dissatisfaction when the mechanics for said platforming aren’t equal to the precision demanded of the player.

The unpolished jump physics detract from the cute, quirky presentation and make what could have been a more enjoyable game feel less so. However, if you can look past its shortcomings, Ice Climber can be a fun game in short bursts. If you’ve never played it before but are curious to try, I recommend the Nintendo Switch Online version, since its rewind feature lets you retry those arduous leaps that newcomers will undoubtedly struggle to land. While Ice Climber deserves recognition for its role in ensuring variety for the successful launch of the NES, playing the game is nothing short of an uphill struggle.

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Of all the sports simulations to have existed since the success of Pong, bowling wasn’t something I thought I’d see in video game format in my adolescent years. Not because I didn’t think it was possible. Bowling just didn’t register in my consciousness as a sport that had a video game counterpart. It didn’t help that between 1985 and 1996, you could literally count on one hand how many bowling games were released on platforms like the NES, Genesis, Game Boy, and Super NES in North America.

Higher-profile sports games like football, basketball, baseball, heck…even pool got more attention in the home console space. It’s no wonder that bowling was an afterthought for me. Apparently, it was an afterthought to game developers too. That all changed for me one day when Big Brother stopped by the local game store after work and brought home Ten Pin Alley on the PlayStation. As we selected our characters and hit the lanes, I soon found myself wondering how I went this long without ever playing a bowling game. Oh…right.

The act of bowling is broken down into three basic steps: (1) aim by moving the cursor over the desired lane arrow, (2) line up the character, and (3) use the bowling meters to determine the velocity (backswing) and release (forward arm motion) to take the shot. You can also use the spin meter to determine how much of a spin you want to put on it before releasing the ball.

The UI for the bowling meter was well thought out, as it was designed as a curved pendulum, which best simulates the basic arm motions when bowling. The player only needs to tap a button at the right time, as indicated by the yellow line on the bowling meters when determining the player’s backswing and release.

You can select and customize one of 12 characters, most of which look like they were plucked from the 1950s. Each character has their oftentimes humorous reactions when they bowl a strike, gutter, or fail to get the ball down the lane at all. Such characters add an amusing sense of whimsy to the game. Some are also left-handed bowlers, ensuring there’s someone for everyone, depending on your preferred method of bowling.

The authenticity of Ten Pin Alley shines through in that, while bowling a strike isn’t effortlessly easy, it can be done by novices and experts alike. The aiming cursor and player position reset on each attempt, requiring you to reorient yourself. This, in turn, makes it impossible to simply autopilot and stay in the perfect spot with the exact amount of spin on the ball needed without giving any thought to each variable. The satisfaction of hearing the crash of the pins as they topple over for a strike is palpable, as is the dread of attempting to bag a spare from a 7-10 split.

The physics governing how the pins react to the bowling ball’s weight, speed, and angle of impact is quite realistic. And as simple as operating the bowling meter may be, there’s always a slight chance you could tap that button just a hair too soon or too late, making for a less-than-perfect shot. The best part is that none of this makes the game unfair or punishingly difficult. Each time I didn’t get the results I had hoped for, it genuinely felt like it was my own error rather than obtuse game design.

As a bowling game, Ten Pin Alley is a natural choice for friends looking for multiplayer fun. Up to six people can play at once if you have the PlayStation Multitap peripheral handy. During multiplayer matches, the game allows players waiting for their turn to troll the player currently bowling. This can be done by holding down the four shoulder buttons and pressing any of the four face buttons, causing an unseen spectator to blurt out obnoxious jeers. For what it’s worth, you can also troll the CPU-controlled opponents, but it seems to have no direct effect on their performance.

Most of the gameplay elements are simple enough to figure out without the need for a tutorial. However, there is a noticeable lack of information regarding several small but important details as they relate to other variables you may need to account for. Take, for example, the option to choose one of three cover types for the bowling ball—resin, plastic, or urethane. You can switch between them at any time during a match, but neither the game nor the instruction manual clarifies how each cover affects the performance of the ball.

To be clear, in real-world bowling, the ball does react differently depending on its coverstock and lane conditions. But to a layman player like myself who doesn’t actually know the difference, it’s hard to discern what it means within the context of the game. As far as I can tell, the differences between plastic, resin, and urethane are only cosmetic.

Yet, the fact that the CPU opponents keep switching their covers throughout the match instills a nagging doubt that maybe I’m not playing up to my true potential since I don’t know how (or if) the cover material matters. It’s like the game is hinting to you that the choice could indeed help or hinder your performance, but it doesn’t make it overtly clear. While none of this egregiously compromises the overall experience, it feels like a missed opportunity to provide a little more context to the choices presented to the player, given the realism that permeates throughout the game.

The visual presentation holds up reasonably well where it counts the most—the overall look of the environments. You have a full view of the lane from behind the shoulder of the player when lining up your shot, taking much of the guesswork out of aiming. You can choose from three types of alleys—Ten Pin Alley (modern), Maui Bowl (retro), and Conga Bowl (neon lighting). While I did enjoy the different aesthetics of each venue, the Conga Bowl is a little too dark for my taste. It obscures the floor’s lane arrows when positioning your player. Also, the character models aren’t great, even by 1996 standards.

Considering that this was developed in an era when most PlayStation games were eager to show off as much 3D as humanly possible, Ten Pin Alley shows a measure of restraint by keeping the focus only on the immediate playing area. You have the lane arrows and signage you’d expect to see at each bowling venue, doing a fantastic job of creating a convincing facsimile of the sport. It doesn’t stretch itself thin trying to recreate an entire bowling facility, and instead puts that energy into realistic bowling physics.

For music, the player can choose between Lounge or Rock tracks (all instrumental without any vocals) during exhibition games. The sound quality is on par with what one would rightly expect from an early PlayStation game. I find the Lounge songs to be the most memorable, though it may be due to the countless gameplay sessions I’ve had over time.

Much like the central gameplay mechanics, the audio presentation rings true to the typical bowling experience. The background chatter of other patrons and the sounds of pin strikes echoing from lanes off-camera capture the atmosphere of the bowling alley. The authenticity particularly shines when playing tournament matches. There is no music to be heard whatsoever. The matches are all but silent, with only muffled whispers and the occasional cough from the audience.

The ability to blurt out those obnoxious jeers mentioned earlier during tournaments is thankfully also disabled in this mode. Bowling a strike or spare garners applause from onlookers. In moments when you almost get a strike, but that one pin teasingly wobbles and decides not to fall, the crowd audibly agonizes with you. With that kind of ambiance, it almost feels like you’re playing in a real-life pro competition.

Ten Pin Alley aptly reflects the development team’s understanding and respect for the fundamental aspects of competitive bowling—whether it’s just family and friends hanging out, or professional bowlers going for the winnings. The game was even sanctioned by the National Bowling Hall of Fame & Museum (featuring a promo video accessible from the main menu), giving it a bit of extra credibility for bowling diehards.

I especially appreciate the game’s restraint in not playing music during tournament matches. It’s something that could have been ignored for fear that players would find it boring. On the contrary, it adds to the richness of the experience, making this a game that has the potential to appeal to anyone willing to give it a chance. Its accurate portrayal of lining up a shot and the physics that followed puts Ten Pin Alley head and shoulders above any home console bowling video game that came before it.

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I’ll wager that most of you have read or watched a Metroid retrospective for the umpteenth time already. So I’ll dispense with the Jeremy Parish-esque deep dive into the history of the series and its influence on video games. Instead, I’ll just talk about its impact on me. But first, let me get a bit of housekeeping out of the way.

While the chronologist in me is screaming to start with the first Metroid on the NES, my initial introduction to it was merely a cursory glance. I had no real context to understand what I was looking at. Therefore, it didn’t leave as deep a first impression as the sequel. But I’ll save that tale for part two. Alright, now on to the good stuff.

In the Beginning

My formal introduction to the series began on the Game Boy, when Metroid II: Return of Samus came into my life courtesy of my brother. It was sometime in 1992 when Big Brother told me about this game he borrowed from his friend at the time. I remember him describing Samus Aran as a “cyborg” who worked for the galaxy police. Though I’d later learn he was playing it fast and loose with the description of Samus, he had me at “galaxy police”. The term reminded me of the Enterprise crew in Star Trek: The Next Generation, my entry point into all things sci-fi.

Watching Big Brother play Metroid II marked the first of many backseat gaming sessions—me constantly looking over his shoulder, trying to get a better view of the Game Boy. At times, he would kindly ask me to move to another angle so my shadow didn’t obscure the blurry dot matrix screen.

As is the case with most Metroid games, progress isn’t a straight path from start to finish. There’s a fair amount of backtracking involved through areas connected by a central hub, which eventually leads you to the endgame. In my opinion, the backtracking in Metroid II is far less arduous than in the first game. But I didn’t know that back then.

This was also my first time playing a Game Boy game with multiple save slots. Previously, I thought that was only possible on PC DOS games. So it gave Metroid II an even greater sense of grandeur in my mind. I mean, three whole separate save files? What a time to be alive! It was a remarkable innovation for me because now, Big Brother and I could play at our own pace without interfering with each other’s game.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I was often paranoid that I wouldn’t remember what I was doing once I turned off the game. So every time I used a save station, I’d make sure to point Samus in the direction I wanted to go next when I came back to the game. It helped me to avoid unnecessary backtracking.

Due to this being our first exposure to the idiosyncrasies of the Metroid series, plus the nuances unique to this particular game, exploring the bowels of SR388 (the planet where the game takes place) felt like a bigger undertaking than it actually is. Much time was spent not knowing where to go or how to get there.

Part of the fun was discovering all the abilities of Samus’ Power Suit. I clearly remember the feelings of accomplishment and empowerment the first time I obtained the Ice Beam, one of the earliest upgrades you’ll find. I loved the novelty of freezing an enemy and either destroying it or using it as a platform to stand on (and then killing it).

Then came the unforgettable moment when Big Brother showed me how to acquire the Varia Suit. I was mesmerized at the sight of the new armor overlay atop the old Power Suit. Samus now runs faster and is less vulnerable than before. It conveyed the feeling that she was equal to the challenges that lay ahead.

Metroid II was the perfect game for me to hone my platforming skills. I could only get so far in games like Sonic the Hedgehog or Super Mario Bros. 3, with their demands for precise jumps and constant momentum. And let’s not even mention the auto-scrolling stages. Instant panic for me. But in contrast, Metroid II was a slower-paced game and didn’t put you under pressure with a timer. I was free to explore as I pleased, and it was a nice change of pace from what I was accustomed to previously.

Between gameplay sessions, I’d pore over the cover art. I loved that image of a fully armored Samus striking that fierce kneeling pose with the smoke rising from her arm cannon, as if she had just blasted an ill-fated foe to kingdom come. The attention to detail on her segmented Varia Suit and oxygen apparatus visually communicated the internal logic of how she could have the freedom of movement to somersault across platforms or breathe in space. It all made sense to me at a glance.

In the Hunt

Similar to the plot in the movie Aliens, the main objective is to find the hostile Metroids and eradicate them one by one. Seemed simple enough at first. But playing without an instruction manual, Big Brother and I didn’t know that there were different varieties of Metroids as you progress further in the game.

We were in for quite a shock when we unexpectedly ran into the first Gamma Metroid (with that jerky “growing” animation, heightening the scare for us), which are nearly double the size of the ones we had seen up to that point. And they only got nastier from there. At some point, the Metroids eventually evolve into Xenomorph lookalikes that Samus can’t outrun, and it takes many more missiles to subdue them than their less evolved brethren.

With the exception of the main hub area and the ruins, Metroid II is devoid of non-stop actiony music. Most areas feature subdued, ambient tones that sound similar to insect trills on a quiet night. It effectively instills both a sense of isolation and slight trepidation that something sinister could be nearby.

That quiet undertone is abruptly juxtaposed by the frantic music that kicks in when you come face-to-face with a Metroid. It made for some effective jump scares for newbies like Big Brother and me, especially when a confrontation was triggered after transitioning between screen boundaries. See case in point below1.

One encounter I’ll never forget happens while descending a seemingly innocuous shaft, only to have that Metroid music break the silence, and up comes a Gamma Metroid resting just under the platform you landed on. Scared us half to death. It got to the point where, if a corridor seemed eerily devoid of enemies, we’d gently move Samus forward instead of casually running, for fear that a Metroid would get the drop on us.

With such danger ever-present, the brief fanfare accompanying each acquisition of a new upgrade, missile pod, or energy tank gave me a few seconds of comforting reprieve before heading back out to face the unknown. Like a comforting pat on the shoulder that said, “keep going, kid”.

Ooh, It’s a Lady!

Obviously, Samus’ gender is no secret these days. But it took Big Brother and me quite a bit of time before we learned about it for ourselves. For starters, since the game was borrowed, he had to return it eventually. And second, about a year or so had passed before he got his own copy. Between the two of us, we completed the game at least twice. The credits roll, Samus either runs endlessly against a starry background or jumps and sticks the landing with the Varia Suit still on, and that was it.

And then one day, it happened. At this point, it was probably my second or third time completing the game. Big Brother is elsewhere in the house. Credits roll. “The End” appears. Samus jumps, but this time lands without the armor on, revealing what I thought was a cyborg to be a woman.

At that moment, a great sense of pride swept over me. Not only did I have the joy of discovering the best ending all on my own, but I loved the idea that this whole time, it was a lady who was getting it done. Forget saving a love interest. Homegirl was saving the whole dang galaxy. It was an absolute revelation in every sense of the word.

Old Dog, New Trick

I love it when I can manage to still find something new in a game I’ve been playing for years. Such was the case about 10 years ago when I reached the final showdown with the Metroid queen for the umpteenth time. Usually, I’d just sink as many missiles into it as possible while avoiding her snapping maw. But on this occasion, while attempting to kneel down and fire missiles, I accidentally went into Morph Ball mode instead. The feeling of annoyance at my error turned into shock and awe at seeing the Metroid queen consume the Morph Ball and digest it.

As the sound of Samus’ draining energy went haywire, I desperately planted bombs inside the foul creature. After it spat me out, I kept repeating the same strategy just to see if it was possible to beat the game that way. Not only was it possible, but defeating the final boss this way only took a fraction of the time it takes to fight her the less risky way. It was amazing. Just when I thought I’d seen everything Metroid II had to offer, it left me that final parting gift. I’m reminded of the moment in Iron Man 2 when Tony Stark solved a problem thanks to a message from his deceased father: “Dead for almost 20 years, and still taking me to school”.

The Influence

Metroid II learned from the pitfalls of its predecessor. Instead of starting half-cocked, Samus begins with a full energy tank, a consignment of missiles, and the Morph Ball to get you on your way. Between the acid liquid boundaries and the Metroid counter on the pause screen, the game gave me sufficient contextual waypoints that eventually helped me figure out where to go without the need for a map.

Instead of feeling lost, I was just a bit turned around, but would surely find my way eventually. That dynamic stuck with me and turned me into a lifelong fan of the Metroid series, which Super Metroid would solidify several years later. But that’s another story for another time.

On a more personal note, playing Metroid II along with Big Brother is one of my most cherished memories. The game always reminds me of what I liked best about growing up with him. Despite the 8-year age difference between us and there being only one Game Boy in the house (which belonged to him), he was generous enough to let me play it when he was away doing firstborn-sibling stuff.

When watching him play, he would follow my suggestions as we both tried to figure out how to reach the next area. When I discovered the best ending and later showed it to him, he didn’t get upset that I beat him to it. Instead, he was just as happy for my accomplishment as if he had done it himself.

In retrospect, that time spent with my brother taught me the value of collaboration over competition, camaraderie over contention. It’s the reason I never got gatekeepy about video games. Instead, I love helping someone get past a difficult section or give a quick suggestion (when solicited) that gets a newcomer on their way in a game, then let them enjoy the rest on their own. I want them to feel welcome and know that they belong regardless of their knowledge, skill, or lack thereof. That’s what playing alongside my brother did for me. And in my book, that makes Metroid II more than the sum of its parts.

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When R-Type showed up in arcades, it was a force to be reckoned with. With its distinct visual presentation, helped along by the H.G. Giger-inspired enemy designs, the game quickly became considered to be one of the best shoot ‘em ups of its time, rivaling the popularity of the Gradius series. With the success of this arcade gem, it was only logical that it should be ported to every major home console imaginable…right? In theory, yes.

But in reality, R-Type was released on only a few video game systems, in contrast to being ported to a wider variety of personal computer systems during its initial run. Of the few home console releases, the Sega Master System saw its own port in 1988. Although faithful to the arcade version in terms of content, it came at a high cost.

You pilot the R-9 Arrowhead on a mission to save humanity from the evil grip of the Bydo Empire—an entity that began as a biological weapon created by humans to help them dominate other civilizations. In an ironic twist of fate, said weapons instead decided to attack humanity. That’s pretty much the story in a nutshell, but a game like this doesn’t require a long one anyway.

Your weaponry comes in several fun flavors. Your ship is standard-equipped with a Wave Cannon. Holding down the fire button charges the cannon, which can be used to blast through a swath of enemies. You also obtain a Force unit—an energy pod that attaches to the front or back of your ship. When detached, it will fire the same standard bullets as your ship, but can also fire at additional angles as you collect more power-ups.

You can also use the Force drone as a battering ram against weaker ships or fling it at the weak points of boss enemies. It’s an ingenious way to improve the odds of success without making the game too easy. When attached to the R-9, the Force unit can also be armed with a variety of lasers upon collecting their corresponding gem—the Reflecting Laser (blue gem), Anti-Air Laser (red gem), and the Anti-Land laser (yellow gem).

The Anti-Air Laser shoots circular beams that make short work of most enemies and is the most powerful of the laser weapons. The Anti-Land laser shoots flames that travel along surfaces on the top and bottom of the screen. My personal favorite is the Reflecting Laser—a three-way beam that ricochets off walls and other objects. I found that it gave me the most flexibility to fend off enemies from all sides.

As is the case with most shooters, each weapon has its own strengths and weaknesses, but all of them can be quite helpful depending on where you are in the game. There’s really no throwaway weapon in the bunch. Rounding out your arsenal, you can obtain homing missiles and two small satellites called “bits”, which give you added physical protection and can fire additional shots when used in conjunction with the Anti-Air Laser. If all of this sounds like overkill, it isn’t. You’ll need all the firepower you can muster for the challenges ahead.

R-Type was known for its punishing difficulty in the arcade, and the same is true on the Master System—but for all the wrong reasons. More dangerous than the swarm of enemy bullets and gigantic bosses is the heavy flickering that plagues each stage. With the number of objects constantly filling the screen, the game has difficulty keeping up with it all.

When the action starts flickering, it becomes far too easy to get clipped by an unseen bullet. This happened to me time and again, especially on the fifth stage where the bullets nearly blend in with the background. To be fair, none of this renders the game unplayable, but it does get in the way of an otherwise good-looking game.

It’s a shame because, when it isn’t being bogged down with flicker galore, the game’s visual quality is nothing short of gorgeous—as evidenced in the first stage. The background nicely fades from the infinite star field into the alien base, complete with blinking lights and rotating sentries encircling your ship. Without question, a nice effort was made to mimic its arcade equivalent; it’s just hard to appreciate the further you advance in the game because of the flickering.

If you enjoyed the musical score in the arcades, you will be happy to know that it remains intact as best as possible on the Master System. Obviously, it wasn’t going to be a 1:1 conversion in terms of sound quality. But it remained true to the arcade version, as much as could be expected from an 8-bit console.

Overall, R-Type is a serviceable port on the Master System. The unique weapons, colossal alien bosses, and Force sidekick are what made the R-Type series a true classic that fans love to revisit. However, the frequently flickering graphics make the game a hard sell to anyone unwilling to put up with it, even for fans of the series.

Considering that it’s much easier to get an arcade-perfect port of this game via R-Type Dimensions on most modern platforms (as of this writing), it makes hunting down a copy of the Master System version even less worthwhile. Unless you’re the hardest of hardcore R-Type fan or an avid collector of Master System games, there just isn’t much to like with this one. Your money will be better spent elsewhere.

I knew very little about Hogan’s Alley back in its heyday. Judging by the mean-looking gangster fully armed with a gun and grimace on the front cover, I assumed it must have been some 3D action title featuring all sorts of wanton violence that my impressionable mind couldn’t handle. However, as the years passed, I eventually learned the less sinister purpose of this game. Originally released in 1984 in Japanese arcades, Hogan’s Alley was a simple target practice game somewhat modeled after the real-life Camp Perry National Guard training facility of the same name.

The game featured no serious allusions to heavy violence. Instead, it only had what were essentially cardboard cut-outs of targets to test your shooting skills. A year later, Nintendo made it a launch title for the North American release of their NES console. This game taught me a lot about myself. Apparently, I’m a trigger-happy loose cannon that will open fire on just about anything.

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I never thought that a game could force me to call into question my ability to identify and shoot a few targets. Hogan’s Alley forces you to hone both your marksmanship and quick judgment skills. You are placed in a training facility that houses cardboard cutouts of six individuals. Three of the six are the targets you want to shoot—Gangster A, Gangster B, and, you guessed it, Gangster C. The other three characters are the innocent civilians that you’d best not shoot—the Lady, the Professor, and the Policeman. Shooting a civilian or failing to shoot the gangster(s) onscreen counts as a “miss” against you. Get 10 misses, and it’s game over for you.

In the same vein as other early NES light gun games, Hogan’s Alley is made of three parts-- Game A, B, and C. Game A is a simple shooting range where each round consists of a mixed lineup of 3 characters. Your goal is to quickly identify and shoot the gangsters in the lineup. Naturally, there will be civilians in the lineup as well, so care must be taken not to shoot them. The numeric figure above the characters represents how many seconds you have to hit to correct targets. This is where much of the challenge is presented.

At first, you’re allowed 2.5 seconds to hit your targets. But soon, the game starts getting tricky by giving you only 0.6 seconds to shoot two gangsters. Short time constraints always make me nervous, and I end up hitting only one of two targets, or worst yet, shooting a bystander. The other major challenge involves not confusing a civilian for one of the bad guys. This is especially so with the Professor and Policeman, as they wear the same color of clothing as two of the gangster cutouts. On a good day, I can make it to round 48 before I have to do the walk of shame.

Game B is more involved than the former one. In this mode, you have to deal with both fixed and moving targets, but the same rules in Game A apply here. In Game B, you are placed in an urban scenario where gangsters and civilians move between buildings, windows, and the pavement. Each round consists of five scenes where both quick wits and an itchy trigger finger are required to succeed. This game mode also adds the additional wrinkle of having multiple targets moving at different intervals.

I tend to prefer the Game B mode because it becomes even more challenging than just picking through a lineup. Again, it is all too easy to accidentally shoot a civilian, so you’ll have to be extra careful. If there’s one complaint I have about both game modes, it’s that it sometimes feels like the Zapper’s trigger doesn’t register as fast as the game demands when I’m trying to quickly shoot two targets.

The final game mode, Trick Shot, is mostly just a bonus game mode. In this mode, cans are tossed onscreen, and you have to get them to land on one of the platforms on the opposite side by shooting them to keep them in the air long enough. You are awarded points according to which platform the cans land on—the highest platform awarding the fewest points, and the bottom platform yielding the most points, since it takes a skilled shot to land them there safely without missing. As with the other two game modes, you are allowed up to 10 misses before the game is over. While it doesn’t amount to much in the form of excitement, it’s still a nice diversion, should your brain tire of the shoot/don’t shoot exercises from the other two modes.

The graphics aren’t as impressive as future NES light gun games. Everything is very simplistic-looking and standard early NES fare. However, compared to games like Duck Hunt, Hogan’s Alley does have a bit more going for it. It can best be observed in Game B, where the scenery changes just enough to keep things visually interesting. Every two rounds, the color palette also changes to keep things from feeling too repetitive in a short period of time. Of course, that only goes so far these days, but it was nice to see the development team attempt to create some diversity with the scenery this time.

There isn’t much going on with the audio presentation in the way of music. Like other early NES games, you get a quick ditty that plays at the title screen, as well as a few notes that play every so often when advancing to another round. However, it’s really not a problem because the lack of music helps with concentration. Sound effects play a bigger role, especially in Game B, because you have to listen out for moving targets and enemies that suddenly pop out from the shadows. It works to great effect since you won’t be conflicted between listening out for movement and hearing some quirky tune playing in the background.

While better shooting gallery games have been made since the release of this one, Hogan’s Alley is still a worthy entry in the NES light gun series. Underneath its simplicity lie gameplay elements that would likely challenge even the most seasoned players. If Duck Hunt was a little too easy for you, then Hogan’s Alley might be a better fit instead.

Since the dawn of Space Invaders, most of us have experienced the accomplishment of blasting wave after wave of intergalactic forces bent on destroying or enslaving something. As the popularity and fandom of shooters grew in the 80s, it came as no surprise that many of those same games would later be ported to home consoles soon after their arcade debut. While the NES and Super Nintendo were known for having many such games on their consoles, the Sega Genesis was no stranger to the genre by any stretch of the imagination.

In 1989, developer Toaplan, famous for such games as Tiger Heli and Twin Cobra, ported their latest arcade shooter, Truxton (Tatsujin in Japan), to the Sega Genesis. Aside from Thunder Force II, this was one of the earliest shoot-em-ups on the system, and coincidentally, Toaplan’s first sci-fi shooter. With its bombastic soundtrack and the unique firepower of the player’s ship, Truxton was a showcase of the Genesis’ ability to provide experiences you couldn’t get on other platforms (yet). And oh what an experience.

Personally, I didn’t discover Truxton until about 20 years ago when I read about it on a retro gaming website. A short time later, while perusing a game store I frequented, I saw the cartridge behind the glass counter, deciding that I absolutely needed this, I plunked down the few bucks it took to bring Truxton home (as retro game prices had not yet skyrocketed). What immediately struck me was the title screen, its marquee fit for a Megadeth album.

At first glance, Truxton appears to be a basic shooter in that there’s not much fundamentally new about the gameplay mechanics that other shooters didn’t already have. You have 8-way directional control of your fighter craft, must destroy an obscene amount of enemy spacecraft, and stay ever on guard against unwelcome contact with enemy bullets. Along the way, you can pick up “S” icons that increase the speed of your ship. As in other games like Gradius, the more speed upgrades you collect, the less precise your ship’s maneuverability. You’ll be more likely to smack into enemy fire or other objects.

You have a few weapons that can be powered beyond their base configuration, starting with the standard three-way Power Shot (red capsule). The Truxton Beam (green capsule) shoots a narrow, rapid beam of energy. The Thunder Laser (blue capsule) fires a single constant stream of electricity and can also lock on to enemies and structures that aren’t destroyed upon contact. And this is where things get interesting.

The effectiveness of each weapon can be improved by collecting “P” capsules. Collecting five capsules upgrades your shot to the next power level; an additional five more give your ship maximum firepower. Doing so is worth the effort because each weapon is quite useful depending on the situation at hand. Best of all, the upgrades apply across all three weapons, leaving you free to experiment and see which of them you like best without the worry of needing to upgrade each one individually.

When fully powered, the Power Shot produces the Rainbow Circle Shot—two intersecting energy fields around your ship that can slice through anything in your path. This allows you to move freely with less worry about colliding with an enemy, though you can still be hit by bullets.

A maxed-out Truxton Beam allows your ship to fire five beams of energy parallel to each other. It’s a faster-firing weapon than the Power Shot and the most potent of your arsenal. Great for cutting a swath through weak enemies and quickly ending boss fights, provided you can survive the volley of bullets. It doesn’t cover as wide an area as your other two choices, so you’ll have to constantly keep on the move to have the best chance of hitting wildly moving enemy targets.

But the fully upgraded Thunder Laser, ladies and gentlemen, is the real star of the show. It fires five electrical bolts that cover a 90-degree radius, making it very easy to defend against incoming enemy fleets that often try to bombard you from multiple areas of the screen, especially in the later stages. You’ll barely need to move around, except when certain enemies attack directly from the rear of your ship.

Since the laser locks onto the bigger enemies no matter your position on the screen, you can also drag it around and take out smaller foes that can otherwise be a pain to contend with while trying to whittle down a boss ship. The only drawback is when it tries to tackle multiple mini-bosses, making it a little difficult to plot a safe path between each target.

It goes without saying that each weapon has its strengths and weaknesses, but they all play a part in balancing the play mechanics of the game. It’s certainly preferable to having only one weapon of utility, while the rest are just occasionally useful in specific situations. And if things get too hairy, you have a stock of destroyer bombs that manifest a huge skull in the middle of the screen, wiping out everything but the hardiest of enemies (and their bullets). It’s so metal!

Truxton is quite the formidable game, no matter which difficulty setting is selected. By the time you reach the second stage, you’ll be frequently dodging and fending off enemies from all sides. Even with fully upgraded firepower, you’ll still have your hands full with the relentless bombardment of those pesky minions trying to blow you to bits.

Unfortunately, “Gradius syndrome” is in full effect if your ship is destroyed. You’ll revert to the default slow speed and Power Shot, and you’ll have to struggle to get those upgrades all over again. Interestingly, you do get to keep the stock of “P” capsules you had before losing a ship, making it possible to quickly upgrade to the next tier of firepower without having to start completely from scratch. After defeating a boss, it is often imperative that you avoid taking a bullet while making your way to the next stage, as getting killed can set you back to the section just before having to face that boss again.

It is worth noting that the easy mode gives you unlimited continues, while the normal and hard modes give you a limited number. And of course, the higher the difficulty, the more bullets there will be to dodge. With the overall challenge looming over you, it’s nice that Toaplan showed some mercy by giving infinite continues on the easiest mode. At the same time, thrill-seeking shooter fans have enough here to hold their attention.

Truxton features a bass-heavy synth-rock soundtrack. It sounds decent enough, but the music can get really pitchy on certain notes. Some of the standouts for me include the opening stage’s heroic, anthemic melody (Brave Man/Far Away). Stages two (Sally), three (Hope), and five (Unknown) carry a moodier theme with an emphasis on heavy bass riffs and crisp FM synth brass. It makes for an appropriately intense space battle.

The music also has the distinction of having been optimized to run at 50Hz—the PAL standard used in Europe, Asia, and other regions. However, Genesis games in the North American region are programmed to run on the NTSC standard, which runs at 60Hz. As a result, the music plays much faster (compare the links above to the PAL version’s soundtrack).

The difference is like stepping on a treadmill at running speed, skipping the warm-up walk entirely. When combined with the action on screen and zippy sound effects, the quirk with the music throws an added sense of frenzy into the mix. It’s a happy accident that gave the US version of the game a unique layer of personality.

The final thing I want to mention is that this is a deceptively short game. It initially weighs in at a mere five stages. However, the game features five endings, each one revealed after completing a round. That technically means the game is 15 stages long. The final ending is a rather bizarre reunion of two characters not mentioned anywhere in-game until that point. Uh…surprise?

Truxton on the Genesis was a competent effort at porting over a remarkable arcade shoot-em-up to the latest home console gaming hardware at the time. While it isn’t quite as timeless as Gradius or Xevious, it still deserves an audience and is totally worth tracking down if you want to play a straightforward but challenging shooter.

If you enjoyed this article and would like to support The 8-Bit Perspective, you can buy me a coffee and help keep the lights on around here. Every little bit helps, one sip at a time.

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With the 2025 MLB World Series currently underway, there’s no better time to take a look at Super Baseball 2020. Alright, technically, it’s 2020 Super Baseball, but I won’t sweat its government name. On September 20, 1991, SNK — famed developer of such blockbusters as Metal Slug and Aero Fighters — released their spin on America’s favorite pastime in arcades via the Neo Geo Multi Video System hardware.

About a month later, it was ported to the Neo Geo AES, and again in 1995 on the Neo Geo CD, among other home console ports. In recent years, the original game has again been made available on all modern platforms via Arcade Archives. With its futuristic setting, easy controls, and even easier gameplay rules, Super Baseball 2020 offered a level of enjoyment missing from baseball’s more realistic interpretation in video games.

There are 12 teams divided into two leagues (six teams in each league). Both leagues are internationally represented with teams like the Aussie Battlers and the Korean Dragons. Players are a mixture of men, women, and robots, though there are also gender-specific teams. If you want an all-female team, go with the Battle Angles. Prefer a team of robots? Select the Mechanical Brains. There are also a few all-male teams, naturally.

In this alternate reality of 2020, the average batter can easily knock the ball into the stands thanks to the power-assisted armor they wear. As a result, the homerun zone has been reduced to only the scoreboard area, which means that players must hit the ball dead center to have a chance at scoring a home run. There are also designated zones in the outfield to assist the defending fielders.

As the name implies, red stop zones will stop the ball dead in its tracks, no matter the velocity. Yellow jump zones increase the fielder’s ability to catch a high fly. One such zone is placed right in front of the home run zone, giving an outfielder a chance to bring a possible score for the opposing team to a devastating halt.

Teams earn money with each successful play they make. For outfielders, extra money is awarded for flashy plays, like jumping to catch a fly ball or diving to catch a line drive. What’s funny is that I never noticed the difference all these years until recently, when I noticed the computer-controlled teams almost always jump for the ball instead of just catching it the normal way.

As your money increases, you can purchase armor upgrades that augment fielding, batting, and pitching abilities. Each upgrade category is divided into three tiers, A through C, with increased effectiveness (and cost) the higher the alphabetical letter. The upgrades wear down over time, as evidenced by electrical sparks and later spewing flames from the player’s armor. This introduces an added layer of strategic planning when deciding when to upgrade and how many within a given inning, especially early in the game.

Explosive mines called “crackers” are placed on the field at random intervals between innings. They can be quite calamitous if an outfielder steps on one. While the mines won’t seriously harm anyone, they will get blown sky-high, and it’s hilarious to watch, especially when it happens to the other team.

All these futuristic trappings of baseball are nice and all. But underneath all that, how do the basic gameplay elements feel? Pretty darn good, actually. When at the plate, lining up your batter with the pitch is super easy since you are never locked into a position in the box, even after the ball leaves the pitcher’s mound. Hitting the ball gives a satisfying crack of the bat, although most batters seem to hit a lot of foul balls or pop flies into the hands of the opposing team.

Pitching is equally as easy in terms of controls. Move your pitcher to either side of the mound, then press the button to start the pitch animation. From there, you just need to hold a direction on the d-pad to determine the type of pitch before the ball leaves the mound. The degree of control you have of the ball as it sails to the plate depends on the stats of the pitcher (the lower the ERA stats, the better skilled the pitcher).

Meanwhile, fielding is more or less automatic half the time. Fielders are often perfectly placed to intercept anything but line drives or a fast, high-flying ball batted well above the reach of the fielder. However, you can still take direct control of your fielders to reposition them as needed when the ball is in play. Throwing to each base corresponds to the directional buttons on the control pad, making it fairly simple for fielders to get the ball where it needs to go.

As good as the overall gameplay elements are, Super Baseball 2020 isn’t without its problems. When trying to field a quick line drive or a ground ball, you can’t select a specific outfielder to go after it. Instead, several fielders in the general area will all chase after the ball. Also, the pitcher will sometimes chase a ground ball well into the outfield, leaving the bases open for the taking if there are runners on base.

There are other times when a ball may stop just inches from your first baseman, but he won’t budge to pick it up, forcing another fielder to waste precious time going infield to pick up the slack, resulting in missed opportunities for a double or triple play. Sometimes, throwing the ball is hampered by your fielders’ line of sight. For example, if a second baseman throws down to home plate, the ball will get cut off by the pitcher before it can reach its intended destination. It’s annoying and can potentially ruin a good run you may have been having up to that point.

No one wants to be hit by a wayward pitch, especially not one launched at 100+ MPH. If such is the fate of the batter, a medical drone descends and teleports the injured player off the plate, replacing them with a robot stand-in. I love the ambulance siren blaring as your player is taken off the field. After striking out, the person at bat might tilt their head in annoyance or break the bat in frustration. A robot pitcher falls apart on the mound if the opposing team scores a home run. These little extra touches helped this game to stand out from the typical baseball simulations of that time.

In addition to the releases on SNK’s Neo Geo platforms, Super Baseball 2020 was also ported to the Sega Genesis and Super NES. While not quite arcade-perfect on either of the 16-bit platforms, both come pretty close in some ways and fall short in others. What’s interesting is that both versions’ strengths and weaknesses are nearly opposite of each other.

Super Nintendo

Two years after the arcade release, Super Baseball 2020 made its way to the 16-bit home console front when Tradewest ported it to the Super Nintendo sometime in July 1993. This version is very similar to the arcade original in terms of visual presentation, with its vibrant colors and soundtrack (though slightly less bombastic with the music). However, the game deviates in a few notable areas.

Hitting the ball doesn’t feel quite as satisfying most times. Even when you visually see the ball flying full force outfield, the sound of contact with the bat doesn’t convey a convincing feeling that I smacked it into the stratosphere. It’s also strangely missing the explosive crackers, taking away one of the more unique aspects of the game that made it so appealing previously.

Gone too are the voice samples heard in the arcade version during closeups of the fielder catching a ball or when a pitcher throws a fastball, just to name a few. Also gone is the ambulance sequence when hit by a high-velocity ball. Sure, you can still get hit, but it’s sadly missing that comical flair of seeing the batter teleported off the field. Overall, the Super NES version looks pretty and plays alright. But it’s also a noticeably muted experience due to it missing those small details that gave the game more personality than most of its kind.

Sega Genesis

Three months after the Super NES release, the game was ported to the Sega Genesis with NuFX and Electronic Arts handling the programming and publishing, respectively. This was the version I was initially introduced to, sometime in the summer of 1995 on a late weekend afternoon. Coincidentally — or perhaps serendipitously — I went to a family friend’s house after playing softball at a nearby park. The son was already buddies with Big Brother and Big Sister, but this was my first time meeting him.

At the time, our family hadn’t had a modern game system in the house since the early ‘90s, so I would always take advantage of even the most minuscule of moments I could spend playing a video game in the wild. All that to say, I jumped at the chance when our friend offered to let me play Super Baseball 2020! It was a fun first-time experience that left a big enough impression for Big Brother and me to remember when we got our Genesis (mine) and Super NES (Big Brother’s) and subsequently purchased both versions of the game.

With the benefit of having played both the arcade original and the Super NES version over the years, I must concede that the graphics on the Genesis aren’t the greatest. The color palette is rather drab and washed out compared to the other versions. Where the audio presentation held up pretty well on the Super NES, the Genesis version doesn’t fare as well.

It’s immediately noticeable when you hear the music after starting a match. The main themes barely resemble those of the arcade original. The instruments sound like a jumbled mess of synths and drum beats. It doesn’t ruin the game, but it’s not the Genesis’ finest hour in the sound department.

However, it is much more faithful to the arcade version aesthetically. The intermittent setting of crackers between innings is there. The ambulance beaming up the batter smited by a pitch is present and accounted for. The sound cues of the athletes’ grunts and exhalations when performing high-intensity moves are here as well. From a gameplay standpoint, I would consider the Genesis port as the one most faithful to the original.

In conclusion…

Overall, Super Baseball 2020 is a fun sports game, no matter your platform of choice. The controls are easy to learn, there are enough unique features to keep each match interesting, and none of these changes were so over the top that they would drastically alienate the average player. It’s fast-paced and doesn’t feel like it’s dragging on indefinitely. If you like baseball but don’t feel like being bogged down with the simulation rules of the sport, this game is your ticket to enjoyment.

If you enjoyed this article and would like to support The 8-Bit Perspective, you can buy me a coffee and help keep the lights on around here. Every little bit helps, one sip at a time.

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A rather unassuming title, Kung Fu has an intriguing history behind it. It started as an arcade game from Irem called Spartan X, aka Kung Fu Master in the US. In Japan, the story and characters were loosely based on the 1984 film Spartan X (Wheels on Meals in the US), starring the Hong Kong martial arts trio of Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung, and Yuen Biao. The protagonist and damsel in distress in the game are named after their counterparts from the movie.

Kung Fu Master also took inspiration from the 1978 film Game of Death — Bruce Lee’s final movie before his, well, death. The initial draft for the film had his character fighting his way to the top of a five-story pagoda. The idea was later scrapped for the film, but was later used as the central setting in Kung Fu Master.

Most noteworthy about the game was its genre-defining gameplay elements, which were considered by many to be the first example of what would be known as a “beat ‘em up”. On October 18, 1985, the Nintendo Entertainment System was launched in the US. The game was released alongside the console, with a slight renaming to simply Kung Fu.

That Kung Fu is inspired by the martial arts movie craze of the ‘70s and ‘80s is evident in the game’s plot. You play as Thomas, a man on a mission to save his girlfriend Sylvia from the clutches of Mr. X and his goons. You’ll have to fight it out as you ascend five floors. In addition to beating your enemies, you’ll also need to beat the timer before it reaches zero.

Thomas is armed with two fists of fury and deadly footwork. With them, he can punch, kick, and perform aerial variations of both. Interestingly, punching an enemy nets you higher points vs. kicking them. I believe it’s because his punches have a shorter reach than his kicks, which makes punching a somewhat riskier move than the relative safety of a kick.

Although Thomas’ repertoire of moves is very basic, that simplicity works in the game’s favor. It avoids the trap of doing too much with a limited set of buttons and instead allows you just to enjoy knocking out hordes of enemies with a single hit. This makes Kung Fu a game that is easy to pick up and play — a testament to its arcade roots from which it is based.

The goal of each stage is to reach the stairs to the next floor. And of course, before you make it to said stairs, you’ll have to get past the boss. Most of them aren’t too difficult to defeat once you learn how to attack while keeping your distance. The only exception is the boss in stage four, who can fake you out by disappearing briefly after being hit and taking no damage. Depending on your approach to the fight, he can initially seem impossible to defeat. But once you figure out (or ask Google) what to do, he becomes less intimidating to battle.

During the first level, you can easily carve a path through the endless parades of henchmen. But as you go further into each level, the attack patterns of some enemies change up a bit. The standard henchmen, known as Grippers, attack more frequently in larger groups. The diminutive Tom Toms will sometimes surprise you and perform an aerial attack instead of walking straight into your low sweeping kicks.

The Knife Throwers become especially troublesome when they attempt to evade you after chucking a knife your way, often when the floor boss walks onscreen. They also have high and low attacks, so you must either jump or crouch, depending on which attack he uses. So you’ll have to decide if it’s worth the trouble to go after him or defeat the boss and get on with things quickly.

Thomas’ health is managed by the red meter at the top of the screen. If a standard Gripper or similar henchman touches him, his life drains slowly. Taking damage from weapons or other hazards depletes it in larger chunks. Enemies attack from both sides, making spatial awareness a must, especially when playing through the second game loop and beyond.

The controls are very responsive as long as Thomas is on the ground. He feels swift when switching directions — a necessity since you’ll have to fend off attacks from both sides. Sometimes his jump kick feels stiff, which causes problems when attempting to dodge a thrown weapon while avoiding contact with other enemies.

I rarely bothered with doing an aerial punch, as they don’t connect as well as a standing or crouching attack. No matter, the game’s mechanics are far from broken. It just could have used a little more polish, perhaps.

While Kung Fu is a fairly decent port of the arcade original, it’s a rather brief game with only five stages that loop back to the beginning with a harder difficulty each loop. Once you defeat Mr. X on the top floor, you’ve seen all the game has to offer. To be fair, this was commonplace in most video games back then, especially arcade-to-home conversions.

Kung Fu offers a humble visual presentation. The detailed background with windows and support columns found in the arcade original is missing from the console port. Here, the characters are smaller, and the colors are simplified to accommodate the limitations of the NES. Even so, Thomas is well-animated with his various moves, and the boss characters look pretty good as well. I’d venture to say that this game had a better visual presentation than other NES launch titles.

The audio quality was a good attempt at emulating the arcade version. What stands out to me the most is the digitized voices. Each time you kick or punch, Thomas makes a realistic quip. The same occurs when bosses sustain damage as well. They also give a taunting laugh if they defeat you. Besides the brief tunes that play at transition segments (beginning a new game, moving to the next level, etc.), there is only one main melody throughout the game. But it’s a good one.

If you played more polished brawlers like Final Fight or Streets of Rage, or River City Girls, then you’ve played remnants of this game in one way or another. Kung Fu introduced the idea of taking on multiple enemies at once, culminating in a fight with a boss character at the end of each level. The player and boss characters’ energy meters and the one-on-one nature of the boss fights would later inspire the core design of the Street Fighter series.

The game’s brevity and repetitive nature may keep this from being a must-have for some. Nevertheless, Kung Fu was still a decent foray into a genre that would later see many more games refine the work that started here.

If you enjoyed this article and would like to support The 8-Bit Perspective, you can buy me a coffee and help keep the lights on around here. Every little bit helps, one sip at a time.

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I went back to the drawing board and started entertaining the idea of posting on a bi-weekly basis. But if 20 years of online publishing has taught me anything, it’s that weekly hard deadlines of any kind are the quickest way to burnout. And if I’m burned out, it’ll be a lot longer than two weeks before I find that creative spark again.

All that to say, it looks like I’m going to throw caution to the wind and write wherever I can handle at the moment. Might be weekly. Might be bi-weekly or longer between posts. I have no idea how many subscribers this little corner of Substack will grow to have over the weeks, months, and [hopefully] years to come. But I do know that churning out half-baked drivel for the sake of having “lots of content” won’t attract long-term readers. I gotta pace myself.

But I’m not here to discuss failed Substack goals and burnout. On the contrary, I would like to introduce a new segment that will be added to this newsletter soon. If you have read any of my game reviews up to this point, you’ve likely noticed the little anecdotes about my personal history with that game or series, as promised in my first post. As much as I enjoy including those little tidbits of information, I wanted to expand on those moments outside of the typical review format.

Therefore, I will soon be adding a new article series to The 8-Bit Perspective called “Under the Influence.” Alcohol pun aside, these articles will be all about my discovery of some of my favorite (and not-so-favorite) games and how the experience influenced me as someone who enjoys video games, hence the title of this post.

I’ve been wanting to do this for quite some time and am looking forward to sharing my precious memories with you, dear readers. Hopefully, it’ll spark some memories of your own that you would like to share as well.

The first article will explore my discovery of the Metroid series. I have a long history with Metroid, and will likely need to break it up into two or three parts, depending on how many games in the series I include and how much I have to say about them. I’m currently smoothing out a rough draft I have about the first game, and I’m working on my thoughts for Metroid II. But I’ll leave it at that for now.

In the meantime, if you’re new to The 8-Bit Perspective, use my time of reprieve to check out my earlier entries. If you see anything that resonates with you, please share your thoughts in the comments section. I do reply to them, I promise. And for all of you out there, keep playing, keep reading, and keep the conversation going.

I’ll see you around.

As I sit down to write this, my mind harkens back to being a kid too young to have been around to have seen a 20 or 30-year-old entertainment medium come into being. Every time I read or watch retrospectives of video games and consoles that came out before the late 80s (I’m talking 1989 kind of late 80s), I feel a twinge of jealousy because I wish I had lived long enough to have seen it take shape and experience the zeitgeist.

And suddenly, I’m 40 years old, and jealous no more! Every emerging form of entertainment I encountered from the age of 10 is now celebrating its 30th anniversary this year, including the North American launch of the PlayStation. And equally as important was its conversion of Ridge Racer.

When it was initially released in arcades in 1993, Ridge Racer was a big deal. Running on the Namco System 22 arcade board, the game impressed players and onlookers with its use of 3D polygonal graphics, Gouraud shading, and texture mapping, all running at 60 FPS. It was a significant step up from Sega’s Virtua Racing—itself an impressive arcade game released a year prior, but getting long in the tooth by this point.

As I’ve said before, a game console was only as strong as its launch titles back then. Such was the case of the PlayStation when it was released stateside on this day, September 9, 1995. As Sony’s first video game system to go toe-to-toe with Nintendo and Sega, the PlayStation came out swinging with Ridge Racer among its launch lineup.

For me, it started in the spring or summer of 1996 when I went over to a friend's house, where I’d often spend weekends. While expecting to play our usual sessions of Streets of Rage 2 or Ms. Pac-Man on his Sega Genesis, he instead loaded Ridge Racer into his newly acquired PlayStation. Once I saw the vibrant graphics and heard the ever-present announcer call out compliments and warnings as you barrel down the road at what seemed like breakneck speeds, it felt like something magical was unfolding.

But I know what some of you might be thinking: “Why all the fuss over a game that prettier, more robust racing games have long since surpassed”? That’s a fair question. When considered only from a standpoint of content, I suppose Ridge Racer would appear to be just an outdated game not worthy of a second look these days. Objectively, you were only really racing on the same track circuit in several different configurations. But far more was happening here than just content alone. It represented a shift in what was possible for home console racing games.

Developed by Namco, Ridge Racer was early proof that the PlayStation was capable of providing a convincing arcade-like experience in a way that simply couldn’t be done on the Super NES, Sega Genesis, or any other 16-bit console. It nailed that vibe of fun in the sun, speeding down the coastal highway in your sports car, drifting around corners without needing to engage the brake hardly at all. From the jump, when you booted up the disc and played that quick round of Galaxian while the game loaded, Ridge Racer sent a clear message: you won’t experience this anywhere else.

There are only four courses in the game (eight if you count the mirrored tracks), but they’re enjoyable while they last. The beginner course is a short two-lap race around the coastline. The intermediate course is the same as the previous one, but with three laps instead of just two. The expert course is also three laps with an extra section added on to it with some tight lanes and tricky S-curves to throw you a surprise if you're not familiar with the layout.

And finally, there’s a time trial course, which is simply a 1-on-1 race with the CPU on the expert course. With each successive course, your car’s top speed increases as well. That being said, after you make the leap from the novice to intermediate, the differences in speed are somewhat negligible.

Racing along with you are 11 other cars, of particular note the yellow rival car (or the red “F/A Racing” vehicle if you selected the yellow car). This is the one you’ll have to look out for while you’re vying for first place with everyone else. The rival car is a fairly worthy opponent that can easily overtake you if you miscalculate a critical corner or two. Beginners getting used to the physics of drifting in this game will likely have a hard time staying ahead of the rival at first. But as your skills improve, the rival car will eventually be little more than an annoyance you can keep at bay.

Ridge Racer provided a more immersive racing experience with its small but effective nuances. The sound of your engine echoed slightly when entering a tunnel. The scenery seamlessly changed from daytime to dusk, to nighttime, and then back again. Smoothly maneuvering through tough hairpin turns and S-curves garnered a compliment from the announcer watching the competition.

Now and then, a helicopter swooped in to capture footage of the race as you sped by. After crossing the finish line, you’d see a replay of highlights from the first lap with smooth sweeping camera angles and aerial shots. Best of all, the game ran velvety smooth. It had all the wow-factor necessary to make a lasting impression long after you stopped playing for the day.

While there is much to like about this game, it still has its fair share of flaws. First and foremost are the “bumper car” physics. It’s all too easy to clip another car from the back or side, which will catapult your opponents ahead by a few feet and force you to lose precious speed and momentum. It totally ruins your strategy when attempting to position your car on tricky turns when there are several cars anywhere near you. It’s a problem that also plagued some of the sequels until later in the series.

Then there’s the lackluster AI. All the CPU cars follow the same predetermined path. They make no real effort to block your approach or seriously outpace you; the only exception being the rival car mentioned earlier. This takes away from some of the challenge and makes it ridiculously easy to reach first place (or close to it) well before the race is over. To be fair, the racing courses themselves become noticeably more challenging when playing the reversed “extra” races. Certain hairpin turns seem to sneak up on you since you’re approaching them from the opposite direction of the standard courses.

And while there are 13 cars total you can drive, only the first four have any meaningful differences in performance. The other eight are essentially carbon copies of four, which makes their lack of originality all the more disappointing, given that the additional cars had interesting designs and decals. It would have been nice to have a richer variety of performance capabilities. However, none of these faults overshadow the overall enjoyment to be had in this game.

Maneuvering your car is pretty straightforward, but it does feel imprecise when negotiating steep turns due to the drifting physics. If you’re accustomed to playing more realistic racing games like the Gran Turismo or Forza Motorsport series, then you'll need to retrain your dexterity. Newcomers will likely find it tricky to ease off the accelerator smoothly, then resume accelerating again. It’ll take some trial and error before you get it right.

Granted, playing this on a modern HDTV will make its visual presentation less than praiseworthy. Nonetheless, for an early PlayStation game, Ridge Racer featured some impressive graphics with vibrant scenery. You'll first start off the race with a roaring crowd and detailed buildings in the surrounding area. The beach features leaning palm trees, a nice view of the water, and a nearby hotel resort, complementing the scenery.

You’ll also notice the occasional roar of an airplane flying overhead throughout the race. There’s also a small overhead highway that runs just above your car as you approach the final corner before the finish line. This was all quite an impressive number for its time. I personally love the minor details, like the billboards advertising some of Namco’s other arcade games.

The best part of Ridge Racer to me is the soundtrack. It was groundbreaking and unlike anything I had heard in a driving game. Composed by Shinji Hosoe, all six songs well captured the new possibilities that the CD audio provided. Some highlights for me were the self-titled “Ridge Racer” track with its bass guitar airy synths front and center, “Rare Hero” and its buzzy bassline, and “Rhythm Shift” featuring a rave motif.

I’d be remiss not to mention the gabber track that plays during the replay footage, complete with blaring air raid sirens to infinity and beyond. It’s Rotterdam hardcore at its Rotterdamdest. I remember when my friend and I heard this for the first time, we burst into spontaneous laughter after hearing the air raid sirens. It was quite a memorable moment.

Another feature unique to the PlayStation version was the ability to replace the game disc with a music CD and listen to your favorite tunes while you race. You may have even noticed the bullet list lauding the game’s features on the back of the jewel case, encouraging would-be players to “put the pedal to the metal with your own music CDs”. Although the instruction manual didn’t explicitly spell out that you needed to open the disc door and swap out the game with an audio CD, most of us eventually figured it out or learned by word of mouth.

Ridge Racer was more than just a thriving arcade port from Namco’s talented staff. The multiple car selections, extended replay footage, and ending sequence make the PlayStation port the ideal way to experience the definitive version of Ridge Racer when compared to the offerings of the arcade original (which I reviewed earlier). It was the poster child for what the 32-bit console gaming experience should be. As good as other popular racing games like OutRun, Rad Racer, Super Mario Kart, and Virtua Racing all were, nothing looked as good or felt as fast and enthralling to behold as Ridge Racer in your home.

The game helped establish Namco as a top-tier game developer for the PlayStation. As the months rolled on, whenever you saw the Namco label on the cover—be it an arcade port or a new IP—you were at least curious to try it, given their laser-focused commitment to high-quality experiences on the PlayStation. With the releases of other arcade titles like Air Combat, Tekken, and Xevious 3D/G+, you knew to expect a near-arcade experience and a bevy of extras thrown in for good measure. And it all started here with Ridge Racer.

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The 1980s were truly a renaissance period for the video game industry. Arcade games like Xevious, Donkey Kong, and OutRun gave us new depths of audio, visual, and strategic intricacies that took us beyond the comparatively simple mechanics of Pong and Space Invaders. It was indeed the golden age of gaming.

One of such revolutionary games was Gradius from Konami. Originally intended to be a sequel to 1981’s Scramble, the concept evolved into a decidedly different game by the time it was released in 1985. A year later, Gradius was ported to a variety of home consoles, including the NES as Konami’s first release on the system.

One look at the cover art and the Star Wars inspiration quickly becomes apparent, evidenced by the large destroyer that looks suspiciously like an Imperial armada ship. When I saw this for the first time, I knew that in my hands was something more than just a run-of-the-mill video game. No, I had grasped a hold of destiny, and according to the banner on the box art, so had over one million happy customers in Japan.

The game is about an Earth-like world called Gradius under attack from invaders known as the Bacterians, an old nemesis of it’s citizens. For reasons never to be explained here, the hostile empire is intent on destroying Gradius. You pilot the advanced inter-dimensional spaceship Vic Viper, your goal being to battle your way to the Bacterian’s super fortress and kill it. Surely this’ll solve the problem for good.

Gradius brought something new, yet practical to the shooter genre—an intuitive power-up system. Capsules collected from red colored enemies would advance the cursor one space across the sectioned meter at the bottom of the screen, allowing you to select the highlighted upgrade. Power-ups include increased speed, missiles, a double shot, lasers, option drones, and a shield barrier. While you can use multiple upgrades at once, you have to select them one at a time, making it a challenge to stay alive long enough to fully arm your ship.

The power-up meter added a layer of strategy that at times required careful planning for the best results. For instance, while the laser upgrade is definitely the most potent weapon, there are quite a few occasions where the double shot may serve you better since it can it can hit enemies both in front and above your position as well. So you might find yourself juggling between both weapons, necessitating that you keep on the lookout for power-up capsules.

The shield is also an invaluable asset because it does a pretty good job at protecting you from everything but a full-on collision and can take a fair number of hits before giving out. As you progress further into the game, you’ll be constantly under heavy fire. I found it prudent to have that section of the weapon gauge at the ready so I could replenish my shield in the very likely event it depletes. That need for vigilance made the game all the more fun to play.

One of the more unique upgrades for its time was the option drones. They are best described as miniature satellite “wingmen” that mimic your maneuvers and are outfitted with the same weapon configuration as the Vic-Viper. Best of all, they’re indestructible, allowing you to strategically place them in harm’s way without fear of a stray bullet or hazard destroying them. At full capacity, the options triple your effectiveness in combat. It was this gameplay element in particular that solidified my enjoyment of Gradius because it gives you a fighting chance against the onslaught.

However, there is one glaring downside to being fully armed with all these goodies—losing a life. If you end up clipping a bullet without a shield or crash into something, you'll be stuck with a slow ship and the basic pea shooter upon re-spawning at the checkpoint. Sometimes you'll resume at a particularly tough section of a level, and if you can't move around quickly, then it’s fairly unlikely you’ll make it far enough to outfit your ship again properly. However, with a bit of practice and patience, I found myself in those circumstances on fewer occasions, and it didn’t ruin the overall enjoyment of the game.

Each stage has its own unique environment, ranging from volcanic and stone ruins to organic alien constructs filled with tentacled creatures and amoeba-like organisms. It was as if you had warped into a different universe each time you progressed to the next area. The behavior of the enemy characters added to the polished presentation of the game. Besides the obligatory flying enemies, the game also featured walking gun turrets with cannons that adjusted their trajectory according to your position.

Ground enemies bounce along the ground and ceiling, spewing a volley of bullets in their wake. Hatches of miniature bases opened to release swarms of smaller attack ships. And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention those ring-spitting Moai heads (aka Easter Island heads) in the third stage. Such enemy designs may have seemed a bit out of place at the time, but they worked well and contributed to the notion that nothing like this had been done before, though Xevious is the closest parallel.

Gradius is an excellent example of an arcade port on less powerful hardware done right. While nothing is really missing or changed in terms of overall content, some aspects from the original were scaled back to accommodate the limitations of the NES. Obviously, the graphics were simplified compared to the arcade version.

You can have only two option drones instead of four, and your laser fires in segmented bursts instead of a longer streak per shot. The number of enemies and other objects was reduced (and in some cases completely removed) to minimize slowdown and flickering (though the latter is still quite noticeable throughout the game).

Despite the limitations of the home port, the audio presentation is still as faithful as reasonably possible to the arcade version. The Gradius series has always been known for its distinctive musical score, and it all started here with this one.

The upbeat sounds of songs like Challenger 1985 (stage 1), Free Flyer (stage 4), and Mechanical Globule (stage 6) really convey that feeling of exploration and wonder as you blast your way through hordes of enemies. Admittedly, the reduced capabilities of the NES mean that the music doesn’t have the same impact as the original on which it is based. But a Gradius soundtrack in any format is a winner.

Gradius is a solid game that makes relatively few mistakes in its execution. It’s a deceptively simple shooter that introduced layers of strategy that pushed the genre beyond previously conceived notions. While losing a life leaves you severely underpowered for the next section of the stage, it isn’t enough to detract from the overall satisfaction of playing through the game. Its unique approach to the shoot-em-up genre makes this worth playing if you’re into 2D scrolling shooters, as well as a personal favorite of mine.

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In the gaming days of yore, there seemed to be no limit to what developers could dream up to help us kill some time. And when they couldn't create a game about humans playing sports, saving the world, or destroying aliens in space, they could always turn to the animal kingdom for inspiration.

In 1985, ASCII Corporation released Penguin-Kun Wars in the arcade—a game featuring animal characters fighting it out, chucking dodgeballs at each other. It was a novel idea as no other game like it had yet existed.

Over the next five years, ASCII released Penguin-Kun Wars on various gaming platforms, including the Famicom and Game Boy. The name was changed to simply Penguin Wars for the Western market, but otherwise, the core gameplay elements remained intact. It wasn't one of the more impressive Game Boy titles, being more of an extension of the original game than a full sequel. No matter, it's hard to deny the fun of cartoonish animals hurling dodge balls at each other.

Given that you have character selections that go well beyond just a penguin, one might expect the game to have a slightly more universal name like "Animal Wars" or something to that effect. However, when considered in the context of Japan’s affinity for penguins and their frequent appearance in Japanese media, the game's title makes total sense.

Aside from the lack of animal representation in the title, Penguin Wars features a modest assortment of challengers battling it out in a game that combines elements of dodgeball, air hockey, and hot potato. Our roster includes:

Penguin — The lovable all-around guy.

Cow — A brute out to prove she ain’t no humdrum heifer.

Bat — His small frame and ability to throw the ball quickly make him a harder target than Jean-Claude Van Damme.

Rabbit — A bushy-tailed bunny with the highest agility of the bunch.

Rat — Name rhymes with “Bat”.

Opponents face off by throwing dodge balls across the table. The main goal is to have the least number of dodgeballs on your side when the timer runs out. Part of the strategy involves stunning your opponent by hitting them with a ball. The game also features a versus mode that allows up to 10 players to compete in tournament matches.

Assuming you successfully barrage your opponent with a few hits, you can unload your arsenal on their side of the table and end the match before the timer reaches zero. If the round lasts long enough, one of several varieties of obstacles will constantly slide across the table, creating a blockade that can deflect the ball(s) in play—adding a somewhat frantic element to the match.

As can be expected, every animal has their strengths and weaknesses. Interestingly, there are no visible stats of the characters within the game itself, but you can determine how strong or weak they are by their size. For example, the rat can move quickly, but is a sitting duck should it get smacked with a ball. On the other hand, the cow can rapidly recover from taking a hit, but has the lowest agility. As the star character, the penguin is the most balanced of all the selectable characters.

Each character can also launch a charged shot by holding the A button for a few seconds when you have a ball in hand (or hoof, wing, paw, or flipper, if you prefer). This will send the ball hurdling across the playfield with considerable force. It’s a nifty strategy for scoring a quick hit on your adversary and possibly depleting your cache of dodgeballs over to their side.

You can also use a power shot to hit other dodgeballs in play on the table, causing them to rebound to your opponent’s side, which could pelt them with a volley of return fire. As a side note, take care not to hold down the A button for too long when winding up for the power shot, lest your character topple over, temporarily stunned.

On the flip side, power shots can also be your worst nightmare if your opponent hits you with a charged ball. It's much easier for them to land a hit than it is for you. Unfortunately, this aspect of the gameplay mechanics is quite flawed. It is especially apparent when starting over after winning the game and then playing the next loop. By this point, your opponents are miraculously able to throw multiple charged shots with deadly precision. If you get hit just once, the chances of recovering quickly enough to tip the battle in your favor are slim to none.

Adding insult to injury, you can inadvertently get hit by a wayward ball rebounding from your end of the table since inbound objects bounce off the invisible wall behind you before coming to a complete stop. So you’re forced to maneuver between the ball thrown at you, as well as any that ricochet behind you. It often becomes nigh impossible, especially if multiple dodgeballs are darting all over the table. I found it downright irritating, as the game's difficulty can quickly become ruthless.

The visual quality in Penguin Wars doesn’t impress much. Like many other early Game Boy titles, it's a graphically downgraded version of the Famicom—though to be fair, you cannot choose characters or lob charged shots like you can in the Game Boy port. Besides the two competing characters, the dodgeballs, and the table they're thrown across, there’s not much to see to make the game look a little more interesting.

It would have been nice if the onlooking spectators in the arcade and Famicom versions could have made it to the Game Boy port. Sure, the characters and playing field would need to be reduced, but adding the crowd would have made the visual presentation a little less bland.

The competing animal characters are well-drawn and look relatively impressive for an early Game Boy title. Some comedic value is added anytime you compete against the rat. If you hit him, the words "Help! Give up!" appear above his head, as if he expects you to have mercy on him. It would have been nice if every character had a personalized quip.

There's not much to write home about regarding the audio aspect either. There are only two main tunes for the game—one for the main matches and one for the bonus rounds. Worse yet, the main song used in most versions of Penguin Wars—a rendition of J-pop singer Hidemi Ishikawa’s “Motto Sekkin Shimasho” (which seems to borrow from Sheila E’s “The Glamorous Life”)—is missing from the Game Boy port. Even so, what’s here works well enough for the game. After all, there are only four matches per game, and they're all relatively short.

While there are far worse Game Boy games out there, Penguin Wars could have used a few improvements before release. After a few lost matches, the lopsided difficulty becomes an irritating thorn in the side. And the barren, clinical look doesn't exactly fit the context of the game’s competitive nature. However, if you’re looking for a straightforward sports game with cuddly creatures, you’ll probably enjoy this one in short bursts.

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Donkey Kong has undoubtedly come a long way. From titular villain to helpless victim (Donkey Kong Jr.) to vine-swinging victor (Donkey Kong Country), Donkey Kong is tied with Mario as one of the most enduring video game characters.

It all began in 1981 when Nintendo—a relatively obscure arcade machine manufacturer—had a problem with their latest game, Radar Scope. The machines were underperforming in terms of revenue, so Nintendo decided to refit the unsold units with a brand new game.

Young staff artist Shigeru Miyamoto was tasked with creating an arcade game that would capture the attention of the American audience. The finished product starred a portly carpenter, a damsel in distress, and a stressed-out gorilla with an infinite supply of barrels and not afraid to use them. Such is the world of Donkey Kong.

The game succeeded beyond expectations, and Donkey Kong became an international blockbuster. It was only natural that it would eventually be ported to the NES after the console's launch in the US. However, this version of the game unfortunately lacked the one crucial element it needed to be a near arcade-perfect port—the cement factory level.

As for me, I was aware of none of this as a kid. I don't recall when Donkey Kong first came into our home. Based on what little I can remember, I’ll hazard a guess and say that it was sometime between kindergarten and 1st grade in 1990.

What I do clearly remember is that, having played Super Mario Bros. before Donkey Kong, I was in for a shock when I had Mario jump down a short distance—by Super Mario platforming standards anyway—only to see him keel over immediately.

But before we touch on that, let’s go over the basics of the game. You are placed in the overalls of Mario—a carpenter in quite a predicament. His girlfriend, Pauline, is snatched away by Donkey Kong, and he’s holding her hostage high atop a construction site.

The main gameplay elements involve climbing ladders, jumping over barrels, and battling walking flames, all of which culminate in a showdown on the steel girders, where Mario must remove the support rivets, causing the oversized monkey to fall in defeat.

The concept is simple enough, but things can get challenging when barrels unexpectedly roll down ladders or those pesky flames multiply, causing you additional grief. Fortunately, Mario can demolish these two obstacles by grabbing a hammer and smashing them into oblivion. The caveat is that you cannot climb ladders or jump over gaps, severely limiting your movement to only a small section of the level while using the hammer.

However, the point values for smashed hazards are 5x the normal amount awarded for merely jumping over them. Similarly, collecting Daisy’s accessories strewn about some of the levels nets you big points as well. Those are crucial factors if you’re trying to rack up 20,000 points for an extra life.

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As I alluded to earlier, unlike his adventures in the Mushroom Kingdom, here Mario is bound by Newton’s Second Law. In short, taking leaps or falls greater than his height will lead to his demise. It can be difficult to judge, especially when negotiating a jump from a moving elevator to a stationary platform. Is it somewhat bothersome? Sure. But considering that the game is simply a port of the arcade version, which was developed before platforming was refined in the Super Mario series, I’m willing to look the other way on this one.

The graphics are simplistic but still accurately represent the arcade version. Every character and moving object is distinguishable and well animated. At times, Kong will tauntingly beat his chest as if daring Mario to come up there and challenge him. The fireball creatures are lively, depicted with eyes and bouncing movements independent of what’s going on around them.

Controlling Mario feels a little stiff, especially when climbing ladders. It often leads to the problem of thinking you’ve reached the very top of a ladder, only to realize you still need to hold the up direction for a moment longer before the character pixel completes the animation. It isn’t uncommon for me to lose a life due to a hazard overtaking me while stuck on the ladder.

As mentioned earlier, the cement factory level is missing from the NES port. It had to be cut due to the space limitations of early cartridges at the time. But the missing knick-knacks don’t end there. Gone is the “how high can you try” screen that precedes each level.

The animations of DK climbing to the top and stomping around, giving the girders their familiar crooked positioning, were cut from the opening scene. Likewise, the cutscene of him snatching up Pauline to greater heights once Mario makes his way to her is also gone.

Nintendo eventually produced an enhanced re-release in 2010—Donkey Kong: Original Edition—with the cement level and several cutscenes restored. However, accessing it was tricky from the start. It was first released as a pre-install Virtual Console game on special anniversary Wii console bundles in Europe.

Two years later in 2012, it was available on the 3DS (via eShop) in Japan and the US, but only as an exclusive for Club Nintendo members who purchased select games and registered them within a strict two-month timeframe. Currently, there is no official way to get it in the US. It is a sad reflection of how the company treats its older IPs (and the fanbase that supported them).

I think it’s fair to say that Donkey Kong hasn’t aged as well as other vintage hits over the decades. It’s highly repetitive and gives few reasons to keep replaying the same three levels beyond the goal of just seeing how many loops you can play through before getting the eventual Game Over screen.

The missing content and stiffness of the controls aren’t doing it any favors either. However, that isn’t to say that the game doesn’t deserve the reverence it has received over the years. And the game can be fun in short bursts, so long as you approach it with modest expectations. Fortunately, the arcade version is available via Nintendo eShop on the Switch. Check it out if you want the most bang for your buck in terms of experiencing the game's complete offerings as intended.

While Donkey Kong may not have been the definitive birthplace of the platformer genre, it certainly popularized the gameplay mechanics. Elevator platforms, crossing chasms, fall damage—all concepts that were pioneered here. From Super Mario Bros. to Blaster Master to Ratchet & Clank and beyond, no one can deny that the vast majority of platforming games past and present owe their existence in one way or another to Mr. Miyamoto’s monkey business.

Every time I play Trampoline Terror!, my mind fondly recalls the first time I heard of it in the early 90s. At the time, the only video game hardware we had was the Game Boy. We couldn’t afford a Super NES or Sega Genesis. So it was always a treat to go to a friend’s house who had one or—dare I say it—both systems. And if I wasn’t able to see it first hand, Big Brother was my man on the inside. He’d regale me with stories of 16-bit games beyond what my Game Boy-centric mind could imagine.

On one occasion, he had just returned from a weekend sleepover at his friend’s house. He excitedly told me about two fascinating Genesis games—one of which featured a character who jumps on trampolines of various colors while avoiding strange enemies (I’ll talk about the other game in a later review).

Admittedly, I had a hard time picturing it in my mind’s eye since I had no frame of reference to compare it to. However, I could see that Big Brother really enjoyed this oddly-titled trampoline-themed game. Developed by Masaya and published by DreamWorks (no relation to the movie studio) in 1990, Trampoline Terror! was quite a unique game if you managed to find out about it somehow.

This journey into the unusual puts you on an Earth-like planet called Ahas. Invaders from the evil Balos empire have constructed a gigantic planet-spanning fortress in the sky, blocking out light from the sun. This menacing grid-like fortress is strangely comprised of trampolines, exploding switches, and various enemies defending the construct.

In true villainous fashion, the empire kidnaps Ahas’ Queen Carina. If left defenseless, the planet will turn cold, and all life will die. It’s up to you, the fearless gymnast known as the “Trampoline Terror”, to destroy all 33 sections of the fortress, rescue the queen, and bring that sweet sunlight back to Ahas. Classic stuff.

I have to hand it to Masaya—they fooled me with this game. Thanks to my youthful first-time impression of Trampoline Terror! many moons ago, I always thought I was playing an action title. At the time, I never noticed that I was actually playing a puzzle game cleverly dressed in an action game’s clothing. I’m not sure why it didn’t click with me until so many years later, especially when most of the gameplay elements are practically screaming, “this is a puzzle game!”

The objective in each stage is to find the switches scattered throughout the area. When you step on the switch’s tile, it will detonate and destroy the current fortress section and advance to the next stage once you have detonated all the switches. Trampolines, the star of the game, allow you to cover a greater distance by holding the jump button when standing on one of them.

Using the trampolines becomes pivotal to your success, as certain switches can only be reached by catapulting off the trampoline onto the switch. But the trampolines can only be used a limited number of times before they break. They are color-coded to indicate their current state of durability. With each bounce, the color changes from green > blue > yellow > red—green being the best condition and red the worst before the trampoline breaks.

The switches in each stage also use the same four color groups as the trampolines. Activating three or four switches of the same color in succession will produce various beneficial effects. For instance, detonating three green switches repairs all trampolines by one level of durability; four green switches grant you an extra life.

Activating three blue switches grants you temporary invincibility; activating four warps you to the next stage (my personal favorite). Three reds freezes all enemies on screen; four clears the screen of enemies until they respawn—great for providing some much-needed respite later in the game.

As you might expect from a game like this, the later stages exploit the different nuances of the switches and trampolines. As you advance further into the game, you’ll have to exercise some forethought before touching certain switches (since they explode after activating them) or jumping from a trampoline onto a disappearing platform. It adds an interesting layer of strategy to keep the game from being too formulaic.

You'll also need to stay a few steps ahead of the enemies in the game because they can easily overwhelm you if you're not careful. The most annoying enemies for me were those darn bullet-heads, flying saucers, and warping bats. As far as the bullet-heads go, they look a lot like the Bullet Bills from Super Mario Bros., but much more annoying.

They quickly dart across four tiles at a time, both vertically and horizontally, and they relentlessly chase you—more than any other enemy in the game. Trying to deal with just one of these guys while calculating your moves to get past other obstacles is quite trialsome.

Adding one or two more into the mix creates some truly tense moments when all you want to do is find that final switch so you can exit the stage. Worst of all, their movements and positioning are timed in a way that places them in (or very near) your direct path at all times. Not for the faint of heart.

Truth be told, it’s the challenging aspects of Trampoline Terror! that make it so interesting to play. You begin the game just running from point A to point B. But soon, you’ll find yourself strategically plotting your path forward, trying to find the best way to finish the area while out-maneuvering the hazards in your way. The game ramps up the challenges subtly, avoiding the common pitfall of sudden spikes in difficulty between stages.

This game also boasts a solid audio presentation. It features simple, well-composed music that changes about every five stages or so. The composer’s careful arrangement yields a crystal-clear soundtrack with noticeable nuances that make for pleasant listening as the player progresses through each area in the game.

As far as sound effects go, I’ve got no complaints. Some of the sounds you’ll hear do stick with you long after you’ve played the game for a while, but in a good kind of way. It can certainly be said that this game had some of the better sound effects to come out of the Genesis’ hardware than other higher-profile titles that received more attention.

As the lifespan of the Sega Genesis and video games in general marched on, Trampoline Terror! faded into obscurity without much mention of it these days. As of this writing, the game hasn’t seen a revival on any modern platforms.

It’s too bad because the puzzle gameplay elements and nicely composed music make this game a gem that many will continue to miss out on. If you have a Genesis console, Trampoline Terror! would be a fine addition to your collection.

Question for the audience: How did you discover Trampoline Terror?

Most retro gaming veterans have likely heard of Rad Racer at some point in their lives. Released as Highway Star on August 7, 1987 on the Famicom, and two months later on the NES in the US, the game was well-received with 1.96 million copies sold, despite its more than passing resemblance to Sega’s OutRun.

But show of hands—how many knew that Rad Racer was developed by SquareSoft (now Square Enix)?

‘Everyone’, you say? Oh. Okay, well how many of you knew that when the game was initially released?

‘Everyone who read the asterisks reference on the back of the box art’, you say? Well, I never had a boxed copy of the game, so the joke’s on you. Ha!

I kid. But seriously, I had no idea that the word “Square” on the title screen meant they were the same developer behind the esteemed Final Fantasy series (released just a few short months after Rad Racer).

In my review of Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out!!, it ended with a mention that, as a result of my getting into an alarming number of fights at school (2nd grade, I think), my parents made Big Brother give up the game. Though he unhappily shuffled into the local flea market (or boot sale for our UK friends), the day ended in jubilation when he came home with Rad Racer as its replacement. For me, it was the touchtone I would use to compare other racing titles for the next several years.

The main objective of the game is to win a series of eight races spread across the world. You won't have to worry about ranking in first place, but you will be racing against a sometimes unforgiving clock. If you have a flawless race, you won’t have much to worry about. But if you crash just once, you'll quickly find yourself furiously trying to make it to the next checkpoint.

Some locations are entirely fictional, while others are based on real-world places. For instance, the first location is simply called "Sunset Coastline"; the next race's location is on the "San Francisco Highway". Regardless of which course you're on, they’re all fun to race.

You have a choice of driving one of two cars: the Ferrari 328 Twin Turbo or the F1 Machine. Neither vehicle differs in speed or handling, but I do recommend driving the Twin Turbo because you'll race against different kinds of cars on each course. If you choose the F1 Machine, you'll only be racing against other F1 Machines of various hues of the same color on each course.

Assuming that you've chosen the Twin Turbo, you'll be competing against cars like the Volkswagen Bug, Lamborghini, Corvette, Testarossa, and a few other real-world vehicles. As you progress through the courses, the cars drive more aggressively and try to get in your way. You’ll want to use caution when you engage the turbo boost while speeding down a traffic-littered straightaway.

Rad Racer does a decent job of giving you a convincing sense of speed and balanced maneuverability. I never found myself fighting with its handling mechanics. Also, I’ve always appreciated that the game doesn’t limit your use of the turbo boost. You are free to use it without worrying about depleting fuel or needing to replenish a special meter. However, an interesting nuance is quietly introduced as you progress further.

The first two courses serve as your testing ground where you can use the turbo to reckless abandon on straightaways. But once you reach the third course, that all changes. Bumping into another car at full speed causes you to crash.

Especially later in the game, you can come up on those cars faster than you may think, making quick reflexes all the more necessary. This mechanic functions as a guardrail, forcing the player to drive defensively instead of simply turbo-boosting through the entire course.

Unlike most racing games at the time, Rad Racer gives the player some grace should the timer reach zero. Instead of stopping dead in your tracks, the car will coast on the speed you had at that moment, allowing you to possibly make it to the next checkpoint. Though a minimal feature, it helped the game to distinguish itself from similar racing games at the time.

The controls are simple and easy to grasp. The A button accelerates, the B button applies the brakes, and holding the up direction engages the turbo. However, it is worth noting that some players may get a little frustrated initially, as it is relatively easy to veer off course and crash into a hazard if you don’t anticipate the steepness of the turn ahead of time. But that can be remedied by taking care to dial it back a notch on the hairpin turns, especially if you've got a lead foot with that turbo boost.

Don't let the box art fool you—the graphics are pretty good for the game's release period. Square did a great job creating a game that made you feel like you were almost right there on the scene. Although some locations are more sparse than others, most of the courses feature rich, detailed backgrounds.

The highlight of the visual presentation is the parallax scrolling. This technique is best showcased in night courses, like San Francisco Highway (my personal favorite). There's nothing more beautiful than racing on a dark roadway, with skyscrapers, bridges, and small city lights lining the background.

Also impressive is that roads dip and rise, further increasing the immersion of driving to the checkered flag. Additionally, certain courses feature changes in the time of day or weather between checkpoints—thumbs up to Square for their attention to detail.

The music for Rad Racer was composed by Nobuo Uematsu of Final Fantasy fame. There are only three music tracks, but they fit the game very well. Best of all, you can change songs at any time during the race by pressing the down arrow on the controller, just as you would change the station on a car radio.

And if you don't like the music, you can always opt to race without it. The melodies are repetitive, but it slaps like a Uematsu song proper. Honestly, I love all three tunes for different reasons. My preferred ranking is the first (Sunset Coastline), third (Grand Canyon), and second song (San Francisco Highway) — in that order (one song per course). That way, I’m always playing the third song on the nighttime courses because it just fits the mood for me.

I appreciated the attention to detail with the sound of your car’s motor and that of the other vehicles on the road (best heard when no music is playing). Some may find the screeching sounds of the tires to be annoying when navigating steep turns, but I don't think it will bother most players. I’ve heard worse sound effects in other racing games.

Overall, Rad Racer is a fine game for anyone, from novice to expert. Sometimes it's fun just to pop in that gray cartridge and take a ride down memory lane. The enjoyment possible with this game is right up there with contemporaries like Pole Position and Outrun. Rad Racer is a ride worth taking every time.

Question for the audience: What’s your preferred listening order to the music in Rad Racer?

If there’s one time of year I dread, it’s the emergence of the latest cicada brood in the summer. After experiencing the terror of having one graze me in the eye during the 2021 “Brood X” emergence, I realized that these critters share some interesting commonalities with the interstellar insects in Namco’s Galaxian. They’re red-eyed, noisy in groups, and will eagerly dive-bomb you as if “Ride of the Valkyries” were blasting in the background. If you told me cicadas were the inspiration behind this game, I’d totally believe you.

Before we get into the review proper, let’s take a brief look at the game’s history. Galaxian was created by Namco game designer Kazunori Sawan. After witnessing the success of Taito’s Space Invaders, the President of Namco tasked Sawan’s team with turning Galaxian into the next big arcade hit.

The enemy characters were initially designed to resemble TIE Fighters from the Star Wars film, but were later modified to have an insect-like appearance instead. Galaxian was a sight to behold, boasting technical accomplishments that included being one of the first arcade games to feature full-color visuals and a scrolling starfield simulating vertical movement.

At first glance, one might dismiss the game as simply a prettier Space Invaders knockoff and nothing more. Indeed, they share the same basic premise—shoot down each row of aliens as they move horizontally in unison and fire back at you. But that is where the similarities end.

Graphical differences aside, Galaxian ups the ante by having the enemies aggressively break formation, attempting to ram your ship while firing missiles at various intervals. If they miss, they’ll rejoin the convoy and take turns attacking you.

Your ship, which the game calls a “Galaxip”, can only fire a single shot at a time and must either hit an enemy or reach the end of the screen before you can fire again. This creates tension any time you miss, especially if an enemy is approaching. They often attack in a meandering zig-zag pattern on either side of the screen.

Thanks to the Galaxip’s leisurely rate of fire, a large part of the challenge involves staying alert to which side the enemies are descending and dodging them as needed. Occasionally, some will perform a somersault just before rejoining the squadron, adding an element of surprise to the unsuspecting player. When you whittle their forces to just a few, the remaining enemies all attack at once without regrouping, unless they destroy one of your ships.

Your biggest worries are the two flagships on the top row. Each will attack with an escort of two wingmen (provided you haven’t destroyed them already). The scoring system also plays a significant role, as the amount of points awarded depends on whether the enemy is actively attacking.

Sure, you can easily pick off the fleet while most are still in formation, but destroying an individual ship moving in for the kill is worth double the points. Taking down a flagship mid-flight can net you up to a little more than 13x the base point value, assuming you destroy both wingmen first. It’s an engaging risk/reward system, especially if you want to rack up enough points to earn an extra ship quickly.

Galaxian was also unique for its sound design. It was one of the earliest examples of using a synthesizer to produce sound effects for the game. In a similar vein to Space Invaders, each round begins with a slowly pulsating tone that gradually speeds up as you destroy the enemy fleet. It evokes a sense of urgency for both the antagonists and the players trying to take them down.

The pulsing sound effects also succeed at delivering that futuristic, otherworldly atmosphere the series became known for. When an enemy swoops down to attack, they emit a whistling noise that lowers in pitch as they descend, like a bomb falling towards its target. The audio presentation, though simplistic, does a good job of engrossing the player in the battle against the space bugs.

It certainly isn’t an exaggeration to consider Galaxian to be an impressive game for its time. However, I cannot ignore that the game is somewhat hampered by the passage of time. In the 45+ years since its initial release, vertical shoot-’em-ups have evolved into far grander ventures than merely destroying the same enemy formations with a single missile-firing ship over and over again until you eventually lose the game.

After completing the first stage, you’ve seen all the game has to offer; gradual difficulty increases aside. And while that’s not in itself a bad thing, it won’t likely hold your attention the way it would have in its heyday, especially if you’ve already experienced the sequel, Galaga. However, the game is still worth playing, if nothing more than for historical context.

If you’re interested in playing Galaxian, you can easily find it as part of Hamster Corporation’s Arcade Archive releases, currently available on most major gaming platforms. Though it may not impress to the same degree as when it was a newer concept, the game still leapfrogged the offerings of Space Invaders and played a pivotal role in paving the way for scrolling shoot-em-ups to truly blossom. If you want to delve into the history of vertical shooters, Galaxian should be at the top of your list.