Sonic Generations Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 7/2/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Sonic Generations

Developer: Sega, Sonic Team

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: Xbox 360, PS3, PC

Release Date: November 1, 2011

Let me ask everyone a hypothetical question: if your 20-year high school reunion was approaching and your life wasn’t in ideal circumstances, would you feel confident in attending? Let’s face it: the impetus of rekindling relationships from the nostalgic era of one’s adolescence in this group setting is to boast about one’s achievements since the pimply days of borrowing daddy’s car and drinking Bud Light with one’s buddies on the weekends while trying to get to second base with the cute clarinetist girl. By then, it’s likely that the vast majority of one’s classmates have earned a college degree, attained self-sustainable wealth from their careers, and reproduced offspring that could be nearing their teenage years themselves. Still, there’s always the one classmate who, despite the decades that have passed, never got their shit together. A chain of irresponsible decisions or idleness made by this person has led to an adult life characterized by self-destruction, dependence, or overall mediocrity that the rest of their former peers find pitiable instead of envious. Initially, celebrating the 20th anniversary of Sonic the Hedgehog with Sonic Generations felt like one of these bums trying to recapture their glorious past. In the world of gaming, Sonic is the epitome of “peaked in high school.” He’s as ostentatious as ever, he’s still uttering his catchphrases and antiquated lingo, and he’s probably the only person in the world who still drinks Zima. All the while, he doesn’t seem to be aware of the perpetual ire and derision he garners from the people surrounding him, who all wonder how he’s still surviving. While Sonic has fumbled numerous times over the years to degrees that would’ve sufficiently murdered any other series on sight, Sonic Colors seemed to show some clarity from the speedy wonder. Sonic’s most recent output on the Wii, which practically took a monastic approach to the blue blur’s gameplay and narrative, received a surprising streak of critical acclaim unseen since the heyday of Sega’s console reign. With the mature level of reflection that Sonic Colors exhibited, perhaps Sega’s pride and joy could pass himself off as dignified and successful for one night to mask all of the deleterious mistakes he’s made.

What I’ve ultimately been alluding to with the high school reunion parallel is the premise of Sonic Generations: a remixed, modernized collective of levels from past Sonic titles, reverting all the way back to the first Sonic game from 1991 to the entries still fresh in gamers’ memories to celebrate the blue blur’s 20th anniversary. The game gives the impression that it’s dialing things down to basics as a means of capturing the simple fidelity of classic Sonic when the player is immediately catapulted to a glossier, polygonal version of Green Hill Zone with no context. After completing the genesis point of Sonic’s two-decade career once again, we are reminded that we aren’t in the primitive days of his early pixelated era when an ominous, demonic presence appears in the sky during a cutscene. Exposition is further detailed when the scene diverts to a lankier, talkier version of Sonic being treated to a surprise birthday party by all of the notable, friendlier Sonic characters, with cake and chili dogs by the barrelful. If they had waited to celebrate the blue blur’s 21st anniversary a year later, Sonic’s compadres could’ve bought a keg, but I digress. This joyous scene is then halted when the dark presence seen previously vacuums up Sonic and his friends into a swirling, black portal, which means the celebration has to be postponed. Sonic regains consciousness in a sterile, blank dimension, and Tails deduces from the entrances to familiar territory the series has covered that they’re trapped in a fractured realm suspended across time and space. Tails also comes to the conclusion that the only way to restore balance between the universe’s vitalities is by revisiting each time period of Sonic’s past, reconnecting the severed chronological chain between them as a result. As much as the narrative conflict ultimately boils down to a glorified string of Sonic’s history, simply playing each level back to back like the opening suggested would be drier than a week-old turkey sandwich. Hey, Sonic Generations presents what is by far the neatest time travel premise the series has seen thus far, so I’ll give them credit for not convoluting this already-sensitive thematic construct like a previous entry that this game is going to contractually revisit.

Sonic Generations arguably also showcases the most restrained example of another Sonic ingredient that has been overcooked since the Genesis era, with the influx of multiple characters being injected into the mix of gameplay. While the opening cutscene displays a treasure trove of Sonic's “pals” that we’ve all controlled at some point or other, Sonic Generations, thankfully, only features two playable characters. Actually, it’s two variations of a single playable character, 2D Sonic representing the blue hedgehog’s winsome, prosperous days, and the newer 3D Sonic embodying the collective embarrassment and irrelevance of his current status. The paradoxical premise of two Sonics interacting together may sound insufferable, but the older, more cartoonishly cherubic Sonic is verbally mute due to the lack of voice acting technology in the rudimentary days of gaming. He’s also lacking the finer traces of subtle edginess he once exuded, but perhaps modern Sonic has evolved to the point where he can flaunt enough attitude for the both of them (ugh)! In addition to the clear contrast between their appearances, demeanors, and punchability, the greatest dichotomy on display between opposite spectrums of the blue blur’s timeline is the differing gameplay modes, hence why the two Sonics’ dimensional differences serve as their discerning nicknames.

As the restricted axis of pixelated gaming would dictate, 2D Sonic operates solely in the depthless, spatially-limited gameplay constrictions of two dimensions. I realize that I’ve made the 2D half of Sonic Generations seem like the lackluster, less-refined portion, but as the general gaming public will tell you, Sonic transitioning to 3D was a greater, reputation-annihilating disaster than the misguided reign of New Coke. Even though the polygonal graphics are distractingly contemporary, I find it unlikely that the Sonic purists who have been clamoring for a return to the classic flat form would chastise 2D Sonic in terms of his gameplay. The 2D Sonic seen here still erupts in a zooming burst of unmitigated speed when he charges himself with the patented “spin dash” maneuver, and attacking enemies reverts to simply bouncing on them from above in a rolled-up, spiked ball form instead of violently homing towards them. Springs, speed tubes, rollercoaster loops, arrays of vertical platforms, and other staunchly 2D Sonic setpieces litter the foregrounds of these levels, and veteran fans will equally recognize the layered level design that’s as complex and sinuous as a hyperactive hedge maze. The blast processing component of the Sega Genesis that enabled Sonic’s lightning-quick swiftness through these winding courses is no longer a relevant factor, for the technical capabilities of seventh-generation consoles have surpassed the now-quaint selling points of Sonic's debut system by units squared. Still, now that facilitating speed is a given, it's wonderful to see that the developers have channeled their efforts into rekindling the intricacies of 2D Sonic’s level design that had been relegated indefinitely to Sega’s archives when 3D became all the rage. While the lustrous graphics smack of dissonant newness, 2D Sonic’s gameplay efficiently evokes the bygone gilded era of the blue blur without question.

Then I suppose that it’s the 3D Sonic half of Sonic Generations that will inspire wincing and dispirited groans from the greater gaming community. When the long-deferred old school Sonic fans are finally granted a full-course meal of 2D Sonic levels, being forced to endure the strand of Sonic that marked his downfall will probably still deter old school veterans from humoring the game altogether. Even though they tend to be a stubborn bunch, I still implore every detractor of 3D Sonic to swallow the blue hedgehog’s more nuanced dimensional range like medicine for their own benefit. Sonic Colors instilled a strong sense of confidence that Sega had experienced a bout of introspection regarding how they were directing Sonic further into the depths of despair with every ill-conceived gimmick and inappropriately lofty narrative premise they devised, and finally decided to show a sense of humility. The sense of self-awareness that Sonic Colors conveyed extends into Sonic Generations by further refining the modern Sonic formula that Sonic Unleashed established and proverbially dragged it through broken glass at every waking moment. Like the previous Sonic entry, the developers have managed to make the newfangled boost mechanic a feasible stride in 3D Sonic’s gameplay evolution by not inflicting punishment on the player for using it. Levels that incorporate long winding tracks with obstacles seldom impeding the player’s trajectory allow Sonic to practically throw caution to the wind and burn the rubber of his sneakers to his heart’s content. When the player is zooming around like lightning and comes across a pace-breaking set piece, such as a platform, enemy, or grind rail, the momentum of the boost mechanic can be both easily halted and course corrected, so Sonic doesn’t careen off a cliff as he would for most instances of boosting in Unleashed. Not only has this instance of innovation from Unleashed been refined to nothing short of total agreeability, but the drift mechanic used to turn at sharp, angular ridges on the extensive tracks has also met a satisfying middle ground between the uncooperativeness in the title of its debut and the constricted rigidness of Colors. Ramps that would engage poorly implemented quick time events now restore Sonic’s boost gauge when he performs flashy midair poses, and chaining Sonic to a streak of enemies with the homing attack is far more precise than it has been lately. A balanced and accessible 3D Sonic is certainly commendable, but what if I told you that this degree of accommodation surpassed mere competency? One reason why former Sonic fans decry the 3D entries is that they tend to condense the levels into a more linear trek compared to the meaty 2D levels that offered alternate paths to victory. One might think that’s the inherent appeal of 2D Sonic, but the branching paths are no longer an exclusive facet of his gameplay. If the player’s reflexes are acute enough while encountering the various modern Sonic set pieces like the rainbow-colored boost rings, their impeccable skill will transport them to a quicker path to the next checkpoint with less resistance. It’s one thing for 3D Sonic’s gameplay to reach a standard of adequacy, but the fact that it's on par with its 2D counterpart in terms of level design quality is something unfathomable. The prevalence of sequences during the 3D levels that flip the camera to the X-axis may continue the argument that Colors instigated, in that the strength of the game lies in harkening back to the foundation that made Sonic a contender for gaming greatness. I’ve tended to object to this assertion, and now that 2D Sonic serves as a clear juxtaposition, I have evidence to support the claim that 3D Sonic’s periodic shifts are fundamentally different from the classic kind of Sonic’s gameplay in design and overall objective. It’s one sum of 3D Sonic’s multifaceted parts that makes the third dimension all the more intriguing, especially since it has managed to hone in on the 2D era’s secret formula for crafting exquisite levels.

The more enterprising aspect of the two types of gameplay is the levels that facilitate them, portals into Sonic’s past with a reinvigorated spark of modernity. It’s here where Sonic Generations hits that Smash Bros. synapse where veteran Sonic fans all sweat in anticipation for which Sonic level is going to receive a nip and tuck treatment. Nine previous Sonic titles are represented in the level roster of Sonic Generations, with one level per game making the cut. From the introduction, we can already conclude that “Green Hill Zone” is the representative for the first Sonic game, for omitting it in favor of any other level from that game would’ve been downright blasphemous. “Chemical Plant Zone” is naturally the contender from the first game’s sequel, for it was the level that truly succeeded “Green Hill Zone’s” formula for a fantastic Sonic bout when every other immediate successor from the same game failed miserably to capture the same magic. The original Genesis trilogy is rounded out with “Sky Sanctuary Zone,” but only if one counts Sonic & Knuckles as the second half portion of the third game on a technicality. This level arguably isn’t as iconic a pick as the former two, but I suppose its inclusion is meant to honor the homeworld of Sonic’s red, gullible echidna friend since he’s an integral character to Sonic’s pixelated prime. If there is a prevailing trend between each of these levels, it’s the exponential rate of refurbishment on display. Obviously, we’re used to seeing these areas exhibited in charming 16-bits, and Sonic, plus the greater gaming medium on the whole, has drastically advanced past the era of pixels these levels were initially designed in. Even regarding the 2D levels, all the commonality between the original versions of these levels and their depictions here is their names, similar setpiece motifs, and general aesthetic themes. Other than that, the developers have given the levels most synonymous with the Sonic series a total rehaul. Still, the developers understood the impact of these levels and treated their recreations with an admirable sense of reverence. The topography of “Green Hill Zone” is still colored with the charming checkerboard pattern of earth with the elegant green grass covering it like delicious icing on a cake, with loops, platform swings, and swirling corkscrews aplenty. “Chemical Plant Zone” still sees Sonic jetting through a series of scientific tubes in ball form and avoiding drowning in the rising, pink chemical liquid. The vertically rotating pulley bars and arcane red orbs that blast Sonic upward like a rocket are transported from the original version of “Sky Sanctuary,” and the climactic ascent up the crumbling Roman-esque tower to the finish line is recreated beautifully. The 3D sections also expand the breadth of the foregrounds and the scope of the area around the level, such as a cave with grind rails in “Green Hill” and the pronounced industrial landscape with its noxious, industry-addled sky surrounding “Chemical Plant” making the scene look as imposing as Eggmanland from Sonic Unleashed. They’re too state-of-the-art to earnestly state that they’re exactly how you remember them, but preserving enough recognizability matched with the modern flourishes is a surefire recipe to please those adamant old school fans and convince newer audiences of their prestige.

Seasoned Sonic fans may be disappointed that Sonic Generations has omitted the inclusion of a level from Sonic CD, likely due to the classic-era entry being released on a Genesis extension instead of the traditional hardware like the numerical titles. Unfortunately, slighting Sonic CD was a necessary evil to maintain the evident narrative theme of splitting Sonic’s timeline into three distinct eras. Following the “original trilogy” of Sonic titles on the Genesis leads to what we can classify as Sonic’s “middle era” with the two Adventure games and Sonic Heroes. These three earlier 3D games encapsulate my rose-tinted association with the blue blur perfectly, so this stretch of the game was naturally the one I was the most invested in. Because of my nostalgic correlation with these levels in particular, I have some discrepancies with the selections they’ve chosen as representation. Namely, Speed Highway as the delegate from the first Sonic Adventure. I would’ve picked “Twinkle Park” or “Red Mountain” due to my personal bias, but I understand that the majority of the population adore Sonic’s sixth Adventure level for the flexibility in level progression that it fosters. Maybe including “Speed Highway” feels redundant because another urban area from the same era in “City Escape” directly follows, but the SA2 representative is an unassailable pick because it’s practically the “Green Hill Zone” of my generation. While I’m content with “Seaside Hill” as the choice for Sonic Heroes, I can’t surmise a reasonable explanation why it was deemed more essential than the others from the same game. If Sonic Heroes doesn’t have what is considered to be a definitive level, then I’d at least suggest digging up “Rail Canyon” or “Lost Jungle” to reconfigure their finicky grind rail sections. Even though including the first level of Sonic Heroes seems arbitrary, the developers evidently had a spark of inspiration when repackaging the game’s introduction. Because the levels of Sonic Heroes tended to be longer than the average Sonic fare, the developers have repurposed the various set pieces that comprise the original level as the focal point of Generations’ deviating paths. At the midway point of the 3D level, the player can either hop across a series of platform islands or drive a kart down a slide with spiked urchins littering the track as deadly obstacles. The developers had also noticed that the oceanic setting of Sonic Heroes’ first level connoted that water would be an element of the foreground, so they factored it into 2D Sonic’s gameplay as a level where he treads under the drink with bubbles popping up as a source of oxygen. Still, extended time beneath the sea floor will only be relevant if the player doesn’t sufficiently reach the ideal path, as opposed to forcing them to wade sluggishly through liquid like a “Labyrinth Zone” scenario. “City Escape” allows 2D Sonic to supplement his standard movement for the automated momentum of a skateboard, while “Speed Highway” involves moving vehicles to take caution, as the intersectional roadway setting would suggest. Overall, the modernized innovation on display with this crop of levels boils down to minor gimmicks and shuffling of familiar level attributes, but that’s all that was necessary to give them a hint of discernibility from their original forms. As someone who cherishes these levels more than most people, I give their remixes my stamp of approval.

After the divisive slew of Sonic’s earliest 3D escapades, most players, myself included, will feel a pang of dread if they’re up to snuff with their Sonic history. The next three levels circle around to Sonic’s dismal present day with his self-titled slop from 2006, Unleashed, and Colors, and I can’t imagine that anyone is excited to get pummeled by these (two) interactive abortions once again. Before you jump off this ship that is presumably sinking, heed this perspective. Although the goal of Sonic Generations is to pay homage to all the Sonic games that precede it, the developers can also take this revisitation project as a golden opportunity to correct the contemporary misdeeds of Sonic the Hedgehog. If the pixelated era was characterized by a rehauling, the middle era a remixing, then the final three levels are due for a reconsideration process to salvage Sonic’s dark days. Firstly, the inherent competence of Sonic Generation’s mechanics already ameliorates the notoriously atrocious Crisis City, and now the player gets to revel in its apocalyptic, firestorm setting instead of feeling like Sega has catapulted them into the agonizing seventh circle of gaming Hell. Conversely, Unleashed’s Italian-inspired “Rooftop Run” is an exemplary fan favorite, but the grueling length of the level, matched with its propensity to spontaneously strike the player with an inexplicable obstacle or platforming snag, had me less than convinced of its outstanding reputation. Now that the original level’s attributes have been split in half between the two Sonics and the steeper platforming challenges are consigned to quicker routes as a reward, I am now exclaiming “ben fatto!” in praise of this vibrant urban cityscape that showcases the captivating iconography of Europe’s boot. Regarding the dichotomy of verdant naturalism and virulent industrialism that is “Planet Whisp” from Sonic Colors, how does one approach a level that wasn’t rife with bullshit and is so fresh in everyone’s memories that it was probably in development concurrently with Generations? Botch it to kingdom come, evidently. In the name of crafting an “appropriate” challenge for the end-game, the developers have bloated both the 2D and 3D versions of the Whisps' homeland to an unnecessarily excruciating degree that fails to capture the essence of its original incarnation. Both the spike and rocket wisps return as fully-fledged mechanics for this level, but I’d rather they transcend their callback novelty to mitigate the slog of the level they’re included in. When the levels that were formally skidmarks on Sonic’s legacy have been completely bleached to spotlessness, it’s a shame that the one level that hadn’t vomited all over the franchise is now dragging them down.

As the player progresses through the game, the white slab of oblivion that is the game’s hub blooms anew with color, or at least around the entrances of the stages to signify their completion. When an entire section is reinvigorated, a whole new slew of side objectives are unlocked on the upper floor of each stage. These pieces of secondary content consist of truncated challenges for the respective levels below them, which include a “ghost race” against a muted doppelganger of 2D Sonic, doubling 3D Sonic’s boost gauge to meet a strict time limit, quickening the offensive rate of the enemies, etc. Many of these challenges will also incorporate one of the series’ secondary characters that are saved from stasis when both of the main acts are completed. As per the condition of each character’s trademarks and relationships to Sonic, their utilization greatly varies on the scale of amusement. Hunting for treasure with Knuckles is almost adorable in execution, and Tails lending his hovering backside namesakes to propel Sonic above the toxic grounds of “Chemical Plant Zone” is as wonderful a platforming aid as has always been. On the other hand, Rogue bewitching enemies with her feminine charms compounds on her on-brand inappropriateness, and all challenges involving the members of Team Chaotix tend to be aggravating in their unique ways. Maybe it’s evidence to the claim that Sonic should’ve stopped socializing and stuck with the friends he made in his pixelated prime, but Amy’s hammer boost is one of the more tedious ones with its finicky launch meter. Even with the implementation of Sonic’s extended social group that varies in terms of tolerance, I don’t detest these additional tasks on their general merits. However, a hefty hint of annoyance occurs when I am constrained to complete at least three per section to progress the game, blowing away the circular mound of matter surrounding a key needed to literally unlock a section’s final portion. I understand that the game is too brief to warrant whatever initial price it was upon its release, but this is the most blatant instance of padding I’ve seen in quite a while.

The player must also proactively gather up the almighty chaos emeralds, but that process involves a more engaging series of objectives with fighting the game’s bosses. Similar to the levels, the daunting duels are also re-enhancements of battles from Sonic’s yesteryears. The ones that are given higher ascendancy as conclusions to a section tend to be the finishing fights for one of the representatives. The Egg Robot from the second Sonic game on the Genesis is a more multifaceted fight with Eggman’s bulky mech that allows for some damage insurance, and adding more platforms in the clash with Perfect Chaos alternates this non-Eggman-oriented final boss splendidly when the boost mechanic makes it all too effortless. Egg Dragoon is admittedly not the foe whose defeat rolls the credits of Sonic Unleashed, but allowing the player to target Eggman’s more modern mechanical marvel from two different weak points displays fantastic variation. Located alongside the side missions are “rival battles,” excursions involving antagonistic Sonic characters whose contentions relate to the blue blur often revolve around their physical similarities. I stated that Sonic CD was given the cold shoulder with its levels, but the game at least still decided to acknowledge its existence by remaking its breakneck battle with Metal Sonic. It’s probably the highlight rival battle included because the following ones against Shadow and Silver are either too confusing or demanding. When the collective power of the seven sacred gems grants the two Sonics the immensely golden glow of Super Sonic, confronting the foreboding time phantom, which is revealed to be yet another mech devised by the doubled brainpower of both Eggman and his former self, who was referred to by a different moniker, is fairly epic in scale. However, the exciting rush of facing off against the game’s final boss depletes quickly because the constant catching up to it grates on the player’s patience. Maybe this boss will prove to be better when another game is released to celebrate Sonic’s 40th anniversary? Until then, it's obvious that the final boss here is the only piece of Sonic content in Generations that wasn’t already supported by a familiar template.

Sonic Generations is a testament that no other video game character shares the same legacy as Sega’s mascot, for better or for worse. By taking the grand tour of Sonic’s storied career, we’re treated to the whirlwind of both his triumphs and tribulations, a dizzying nostalgia trip with more ups and downs than a malfunctioning elevator. However, if someone was introduced to Sonic through Generations, they’d think that Sonic’s history was smooth sailing throughout because of how the solid gameplay foundation of this “greatest hits” compilation brings about a consistent flow of high quality. Except for the mistreatment of “Planet Wisp,” Sonic Generations is both a stunning return to form for the deferred 2D gameplay that put our boy among the stars of gaming glory and the apex of the “boost formula” that defines Sonic’s current era. In fact, I’m going to boldly state that 3D Sonic’s half of Generations shines brighter over its reputable, older counterpart, and I defy all the skeptics to see this revelation for themselves. I’m glad to say that Sonic Colors was not a surprising outlier in a streak of absolute shit that Sonic had been defecating out, and Sonic Generations not only extends this pattern of good fortune, but excels beyond the winning formula of its immediate predecessor to what is possibly the gold standard of Sonic the Hedgehog all around. However, no amount of rewriting Sonic’s history can verge 2D Sonic towards the bright tomorrow that 3D Sonic promises him as he departs. Oh, Sonic…lay off the oxycodone.

Spyro: Year of the Dragon Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 6/27/2025)

[Image from igdb.com]

Spyro: Year of the Dragon

Developer: Insomniac

Publisher: SCEI

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: PS1

Release Date: October 25, 2000

The Spyro series just seemed to shine brighter with every subsequent entry. Like the progression of a satisfying orgasm, Insomniac’s 3D platformer series starring a plucky purple dragon grew increasingly better and better as it pressed onward. This incremental build-up of increased quality culminates in Spyro: Year of the Dragon, the third entry in one of the original PlayStation’s answers to competing with Super Mario 64 and other early, kid-friendly 3D platformers of the same ilk exclusively on the N64. With the hindsight of two games under its belt, the Spyro series used the layers of experience gathered to further the refinement process that had been a focal point of the second game’s development. By stacking onto the series' successes and reconfiguring all of its failures, Spyro: Year of the Dragon became the Return of the King of third entries in gaming. This second sequel towered over its predecessors as the pinnacle of not only the series but 3D platformers in general. Spyro: Year of the Dragon was the game that was finally exemplary enough to make everyone ask, “Mario who?” and usher in Sony’s indomitable reign of console market supremacy.
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Alright, did I actually fool someone with my line of bullshit? Perhaps I’d bait someone with my opening paragraph if they either don’t understand hyperbole or have never read one of my reviews before. Even without drawing direct parallels to the course of the original Crash trilogy and how Crash Bandicoot: Warped was the ridiculous second sequel that streamlined the series and added too much stuff for the sake of preserving its appeal after two entries, everyone should know that every third and final game in any trilogy is guilty of implementing the same practices. Spyro: Year of the Dragon, of course, is absolutely not an exception to this rule. In fact, the bloatedness on display in Spyro’s third outing makes the kooky augmentations of Warped look reserved by comparison. You might be aware of the unfortunate pattern that plagues any video game series’ second sequel, but you don’t know the extent of it until you’ve played Spyro: Year of the Dragon.

Spyro: Year of the Dragon begins with an eggnapping, the primordial form of a kidnapping. A cloaked figure and her team of rhino creatures, who evidently have mole-like digging properties, ransack the Dragon Kingdom of its eggs literally out from under their noses, boldly taking them from their outdoor quarters as they sleep. Somehow, even after compromising their position by carelessly stepping on Hunter’s tail, the egg bandits still manage to escape from their little heist unscathed, even with tons of towering dragon elders on the scene. How useless is Hunter proven to be when these thieves outrun the innate speed of his cheetah birthright? The following scene, witnessed by series staple tutorial fairy, Zoe, depicts the cloaked figure handing an egg to a regal figure sitting on a throne of sorts. Judging by her commanding demeanor, we’re to believe that she falls on the tyrannical spectrum of rulers, and she does not have virtuous intentions with these dragon eggs. Naturally, the onus is on Spyro (and Hunter, I guess) to retrieve their stolen property one by one. The conflict that Year of the Dragon presents doesn’t have the clear aura of worry that Ripto’s Rage exuded with its premise. Still, the stakes of losing the entire newborn populace of an endangered species and the implications that the series’ new villain might boil em, mash em, and stick em in a stew like common potatoes should not bode well with either Spyro or the player.

Surprisingly, Year of the Dragon progresses forward by reverting a bit back to the practices of the first game. Namely, treating its collectathon format in the literal fashion of locating the whereabouts of the game’s main Macguffin strewn about the map. Like the immobilized dragon elders Spyro needed to find in his amateur adventuring days, freeing an appropriate number of eggs from captivity is what progresses the narrative. Once found, the little dragon tykes pop out from their eggs as what I can discern is a token of their gratitude, and each of them is already born with names that run the gamut of both male and female baby books. Yes, I even found a dragon that shared my name eventually. Besides the standby gems that serve as currency, the eggs are the sole collectible in Year of the Dragon, solving the issue presented in Ripto’s Rage when two primary collectibles started waging war for higher precedence. The eggs replace both the talismans and orbs simultaneously, rewards for trekking to a level’s main goal line, and the branching paths with other activities available. This way, the collectibles are far more concise and organized, and every achievement is of equal standing. I may still be wondering what I did to warrant a reward when I reach the end of any of these levels, as I did in Ripto’s Rage, but I’m at least no longer questioning the validity of what I achieved because there is another collectible to consider.

Year of the Dragon illustrates the importance of performing the bare minimum task of hiking to the other warp gate of each level because a representative from that level’s friendly NPC race will recognize Spyro’s “aid” and return the favor by crafting the airborne travel mechanism that will carry Spyro to the next realm upon completion. Each of these NPCs that Spyro converses with all shares a commonality of adorable chibi sizes, but they all greatly vary in shapes, designs, and silly accents. “Sunny Villa” has Roman bears wearing togas with Italian accents, the rabbits of “Dino Mines” all sound like Jimmy Stewart, the fireflies that illuminate “Spooky Swamp” all insist on uttering every line of dialogue as a haiku, etc. To interact with all of these adorable, kooky characters, Spyro must supersede the bare minimum of walking the linear path to the level’s other end. A condition of the eggs performing both halves of the two collectibles featured in Ripto’s Rage is that the player will need a certain amount of them to unlock more of the game’s content, as collecting the orbs once fulfilled. The amount needed is never too steep, and every single egg is accounted for when the game considers the totals. Again, I can’t stress enough how Year of the Dragon finally perfected the series’ collectathon process, melding the two attempts that weren’t quite right and hitting a bullseye with the fusion. Gathering up eggs like it’s Easter Sunday is both a smooth and varied excursion throughout, and I was relieved when the game didn’t suddenly erect a brick wall at the finale to halt my progress like hitting a moose dead-on with my car.

Many eggs can be uncovered while taking the stroll to the level’s exit gate, which can vary from sitting pretty in the grass or inconspicuous heights and corners that require an acute knowledge of the level’s layout. The main collectible even invites the cheeky, cloaked egg thieves to return after their absence in Ripto’s Rage, engaging the chase sequences from the first game that were actually enthralling. Still, a sizable percentage of them are obtained through completing “side quests” that involve mechanics outside the gliding, jumping, ramming, and fire-breathing maneuvers regularly used on the field. In Ripto’s Rage, orbs were earned by completing these secondary objectives located outside, around, and or beyond the linear trek to receiving a talisman. Finding the NPC who gives Spyro this condition to earn an orb required keen exploration in and of itself, exposing the rich layers and details present in each level. It’s a tad disheartening that Year of the Dragon forgoes the organic symmetry of combining the main path with the notable destinations in favor of implementing portals with loading screens, but ultimately, HOW some of the eggs are earned through these auxiliary escapades that smack of tired third entry syndrome. Vehicles are an alternate means of gameplay that were an element to earning a few orbs in Ripto’s Rage, most notably the trolley segment in “Breeze Harbor.” Year of the Dragon recognizes that a dragon living a storybook fantasy realm, hopping onto a mechanical marvel and riding it, is a knowingly unfitting deviation from his innate abilities, but the ironic humour of such a scene wears thin when it occurs far too often for comfort. The Egyptian-inspired “Haunted Tomb” features a tank battle between Spyro and four other heavily-armed combatants, and the rigid dodging controls with the other tanks firing shells from all angles make victory in this BattleBots match in favor of whoever pleases RNGesus. I refused to even humor the second round, where there are ten goddamn tanks in the arena all at once. The tank that skids through water isn’t any more fluid (no pun intended), and neither is the one that hovers about in the air. Really, the zenith point of ridiculousness regarding Year of the Dragon’s penchant for accelerating Spyro’s movement with a contraption is the plethora of skateboarding sections, setting Spyro in a skatepark while Hunter judges his skills from a distance. Yes, to spruce up the series’ gameplay after two entries, Spyro emulates Tony Hawk of all things. During these sections, I found myself pedantically mulling over the fact that Spyro isn’t (and physically can’t) accelerate the board’s movement with his legs, but the true issue is that hopping off of a ramp or flying upward on an incline tends to be incredibly unresponsive. Cowabunga, dude? Hell nah. As for how this third entry condescendingly dilutes its attributes for accessibility’s sake, as they tend to do, the speedways, a staple of Spyro that always proved to be a competent means of offering an alternate mode of gameplay, are unfortunately dumbed down due to their compact design. Sparx even expresses his lack of confidence in Spyro by suggesting the order in which to tackle the four categories. Bite me, you glowing bug.

To compound on the prevalent annoyance and or rank silliness that smudge Year of the Dragon’s “side quests,” many of them are also exclusively allocated to sections where the player controls the game’s four other playable characters. Gee, with Spyro’s new friends from Avalar congesting the screen at every other moment in Ripto’s Rage, who could’ve guessed that its follow-up would clutter the game with even more characters? I’m so used to composing at least one paragraph dedicated to what I call “Sonic’s shitty social circle” when discussing many of the blue blur’s 3D titles, and now, I can swap Sonic for Spyro (without ruining the alliteration in the title at that), and my scorn is just as applicable. In addition to conducting the toll-like progression impediments littered throughout the land, the Scroogelike scoundrel Moneybags has tacked on selling the prisoners of the main antagonist as another scheme to gain more profit. The legalities of this practice aside, once Spyro pays their ransom, sections involving each character’s set of unique skills are unlocked for the chance of gathering more dragon eggs. Sheila the Kangaroo’s superhopping ability is the most appropriate for a platformer, but she lacks the grace of our purple protagonist. A flying penguin causes my persnickety nature to flare up again, but the true complaint I have regarding “secret agent” Sgt. Byrd is that his sections tend to heavily restrict his ability. The only exception to this is letting him free-roam to collect bones in “Enchanted Towers.” Bentley the Yeti is the powerhouse with his giant icicle club, but the developers should’ve made his sections more methodical, considering how many big blocks he moves to use as platforms and his unexpectedly articulate personality. He’d evidently make for a better puzzle-solver than a boxer, that’s for damn sure. Lastly, mad monkey Agent 9 offers shooting gameplay in both the third and first-person perspectives. The time playing as Agent 9 conjured up many unpleasant memories of times when Banjo cocked Kazooie like a gun in Banjo Tooie, and firing lasers as this space-suited simian was equally as mismatched and demanding. Similar to any instance of Spyro piloting a vehicle, the other playable characters are testament to the fact that variety isn’t inherently an enhancement to preserve the player’s attention.

I suppose boss fights count as an alternate means of receiving eggs, considering that one is earned upon defeating one, just like all of the tasks that unlock its availability leading up to it. It’s no secret that the Spyro series once struggled immensely in this department, and Ripto’s Rage corrected the first game’s baffling mistake of narratively weighted chases with foes that are fought with health bars like typical boss battles. Like learning to ride a bike, Year of the Dragon doesn’t forget how to craft adequate milestone baddies from the exceptional example that Ripto’s Rage laid out. The magically mutated trio of Buzz, Spike, and Scorch are all fine multiphased fights that conclude each realm nicely. Year of the Dragon even doubles the selection of bosses by offering one tucked away in a level per realm, and these duels of lesser narrative stature are equally as involved as the mandatory ones, especially the twin dragons of “Fireworks Factory.” I even like blasting the mechanical shark Bluto in the circular pool arena in “Seashell Shore,” despite having to use the clunky speedboat that fires the ammunition. Still, all of my complaints regarding the various vehicles culminate to a blood-boiling degree with the final boss of the Sorceress, in which every conceivable vehicle is dropped onto the stage as the only means of blowing off chunks of her health bar. Even her true final fight en route to the game’s full completion heavily involves using the hovercraft to shoot down her saucer. It’s hardly as epic as finishing off Ripto, and it proves to be far more of a headache.

On top of both of her gimmicky final fights, what also bothers me regarding The Sorceress is that she’s practically a non-entity in terms of her role in the overall narrative. Sure, she’s the one pulling the strings of the egg-stealing operation, but her idle position of making commands from the comfort of her throne hardly matches the vigor of Ripto, seizing Avalar district by district on the backside of Gulp like an insidious imperial general. The only character in Year of the Dragon that is an active force of antagonism is Bianca, the blonde bunny who stole the eggs and occasionally attempts to cause Spyro grief on his mission to recover them. Inherent subordinate status aside, the fact that The Sorceress scolds her during every interaction and that Spyro and Hunter charitably help when her lack of finesse in witchery becomes a liability to herself, it’s obvious that she eventually defects from her lackey role to join Spyro on the side of heroism. When she does become another member of Spyro’s “team,” all the game does is relegate her presence entirely to a B-plot with Hunter. In fact, these two interact with one another so much that it blooms into a romantic relationship, in which Spyro laments that “another noble warrior falls victim to the plague of love.” Damn, Spyro, two adventures were enough to transform you into a jaded curmudgeon, eh? Is this a Charles Bukowski quote? Anyways, without a solid antagonist, the conflict turns flat and starts to evoke feelings of picking up one’s scattered trash after a bad storm blows through, like rescuing the dragon elders in the first game.

Forget what I said about Crash Bandicoot: Warped exemplifying all of the unsavory hallmarks of a third entry trying to reinvigorate a weathered franchise. Two years later, its younger brother on the PS1 caught up and really showed Naughty Dog how to masterfully bloat a series like a stomach after too much Taco Bell. I’m almost convinced that Insomniac was totally aware of the trappings of a third entry and unabashedly embraced the inevitable. How else do you explain aspects such as skateboarding or the influx of playable characters that aren't Spyro in the slightest? They are such prevalent forces that drive Year of the Dragon, creating a diversion like a younger sibling screaming loudly to distract their parents from noticing the older sibling stealing snacks from the pantry. In this context, all of the new additions serve to distract the player from noticing how Spyro’s gameplay has barely been innovated on in any profound manner. Still, I suppose even with all of Year of the Dragon’s messiness, it’s a more resonating Spyro experience than the rough template of its first outing. Still, in making this statement, I realize that it's another checkmark on the scorecard of Year of the Dragon’s third entry proclivities that make it the archetypal game that rounds off a trilogy…for better or for worse.

God of War II Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 6/24/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

God of War II

Developer: Santa Monica Studios

Publisher: SCE

Genre(s): Hack 'n Slash

Platforms: PS2

Release Date: March 13, 2007

Ah, so here’s where the God of War series garnered so much of its acclaim. I can’t say I’m too surprised. It should be the rule of thumb at this point that the first video game sequel is primed to be the exemplary entry of any franchise, a reflection on the finished product of their initial image that improves upon the untested template with a healthy mix of hindsight and critical feedback. Unlike films whose sequels often falter due to the medium’s inherent overreliance on using its narrative and characters as its substantial backbone, the interactive elements of video games, intermingled with the same components of film, add a broad layer of properties that allow more room to expand on and produce a smoother product with tweaking and reconsideration. One could argue that the narrative arc of the haunted Spartan warrior came to a satisfying conclusion at the end of the first game when he accomplished his absurdly daunting mission of annihilating Ares and dismantling his position on Olympus as the distinguished “God of war,” even though the air of dissatisfaction on Kratos’ part suggests that there are diminishing returns to his achievement. From a gameplay standpoint, however, concluding God of War with its initial outing would’ve shown a blatant showing of laziness or delusion from the developers, implying that everything was hunky dory. Inappropriate platforming mixed with strictly and cheaply implemented QTE combat sections hardly constitute the definition of a modern gaming masterpiece in my book. Giving the developers the benefit of the doubt that these shaky attributes aren’t self-conscious decisions that they deem as integral to God of War’s gameplay core, a sequel grants them enough opportunity to amend their mistakes and crease those oily hinges. Only by doing so will they create a follow-up that wins over the one percent of gamers (me) that weren’t convinced of the first game’s seemingly unanimous adulation. Did the finished product of God of War II placate me enough to a degree where I’m echoing its praises all the way to the heights of Olympus? For the most part, yes, but something is still bothering me that keeps me from boarding the God of War hype train.

God of War II begins immediately on the frame that ended the previous game, which is Kratos sitting with a stare of discontent on the former throne of Ares. It’s the most I’ve ever seen someone pout upon receiving a promotion, but then again, he never even applied for the position in the first place. One might wonder how controlling Kratos will fare this time around, considering that he’s now a divine entity with the powers of both immortality and gigantism at his disposal, but the enhanced Kratos is only witnessed from a voyeuristic point of view in the game’s opening cutscene. Kratos is still a proud Spartan at heart, so it behooves him to stand (literally) tall beside them in battle against the ancient Greek city of Rhodes. Considering that the Gods are intended to act non-partisanly over all civilizations that reside in the Mediterranean country, Zeus, the head honcho of Olympus, intervenes on Kratos’ attempts to tip the scales of battle in the favor of his homeland by sapping the newly-appointed deity of his holy divinity. Channeling the last drop of his godly abilities into powering the fabled Blade of Olympus, Zeus arrives to fatally plunge the sacred greatsword into Kratos’ vital arteries as punishment for his insubordination. In addition to slaying their allied juggernaut, Zeus extends the punitive measure to erasing the entire Spartan army off the map with a cataclysmic blast of energy, a decision that is certain to tick Kratos off, to say the least. Once he escapes from the clutches of the Underworld for the second time, Kratos collaborates with the Titans, another formidable faction of the ancient Greek mythos, to take revenge against Zeus for both his transgressions against our protagonist and the God of Thunder’s betrayal of the Titans during his pre-Olympian era. The only feasible way of sticking it to a God of Zeus's unparalleled stature is for Kratos to locate the whereabouts of the Sisters of Fate, a trio of time controllers whose specific abilities will prove paramount to at least penetrating the defenses of the almighty king of Olympus. If you thought the notion of killing a single God was preposterous, Kratos must be off his fucking rocker if he thinks he stands any chance of vanquishing THE grand poobah of Greek Gods himself: the chairman of the most esteemed board imaginable. His unabating anger must be fogging up all traces of rationality like a four-way street intersection in Silent Hill. Still, Kratos’s insane ambitions raise the stakes of the game’s narrative as any solid sequel ideally should, prompting it through Kratos’s on-brand qualms with the higher powers and his punk rock defiance. No wonder the developers made him bald.

Journeying to the sororal domain of ancient Greece’s time bearers is sure to be as strenuous a trek as uncovering Pandora’s Box in the first game. I mostly use “strenuous” as a means of describing the lofty scope of the mission, fitting for the Greek epics of yore that serve as God of War’s conceptual foundation. However, the adjective could also pertain to its level of difficulty from a player's standpoint, seeing how arduous select moments of the first game proved to be. The first game might have suggested to the player to lower the game’s combat difficulty whenever Kratos meets his untimely demise numerous times in the same scene (and it still does here), but most of the struggles that triggered these post-death pop-ups stemmed from the egregious platforming challenges. I compared Kratos to Mario when poking fun at the bevy of jumping the “ghost of Sparta” was forced to perform, but considering how many of the first game’s platforming involved balance beams, the developers wanted their burly murderer to emulate Simone Biles–an even more hilariously mismatched comparison, for sure. That one vertical climb in the Underworld has made me irrationally upset at any tall architectural structures, ranging from lighthouses to silos–whose outer walls ideally shouldn’t be scaled either. When I encountered another section in GOW II’s prologue that required Kratos to carefully tiptoe across, I wanted to scream out a NOOOO as emphatically as our protagonist must have uttered when he accidentally slaughtered his wife and daughter. However, I found this particular balance beam section to be agreeably smooth, as Kratos never slipped and dangled from its side on account of my lack of perceived precision. As the game progressed, I found that the developers had forgone their favorite form of acrobatics in favor of agile feats that better suited their protagonist. GOW II’s prevalent, distinctive platforming mechanic is the chain swing, latching onto fixtures and a series of slabs on ceilings to propel Kratos onward and upward like Indiana Jones using his whip to cross a chasm. Unlike many of the mechanics in God of War that involve an extraneous roulette of button combinations, all the player has to do to execute this maneuver is look for the R1 trigger and jump whenever they feel confident that Kratos will swing to the desired destination. They can also hold down another button to gain momentum if deemed necessary. Returning alternative means of platforming the route to the Sisters of Fate seems to be steeped in is wall climbing and rope crawling, both of which carried little to no serious complications. For standard platforming instances, all of the awkwardness regarding Kratos’ questionable jumping abilities can be course-corrected by the wings of Icarus, sprouting upon leaping in the air twice to glide for a short while. Admittedly, this nifty extension isn’t available until over halfway into the game, but only then will there be platforming feats that require its use. Overall, Kratos generally feels more adroit than in his last appearance, which resolves one of my biggest grievances regarding the properties of the previous game. Still, with Kratos’ newfound nimbleness, why couldn’t there have been more balance beams integrated with all the game’s other platforming facets? It’s better to be safe than sorry again, I guess.

Despite Kratos exhibiting a smoother aerodynamicism, the brute will initially still feel less capable from a combat standpoint in lieu of Zeus stripping him of his powers like a parent taking away their child’s electronics. Accumulating auxiliary powers to accompany the dueling chain blades was an earned process through progressing the game, and the player would probably feel cheated if Kratos was still hanging on to yesterday’s set of skills. Fortunately, GoW II offers a whole new slew of secondary tactics to use in massacring all the notable creatures that encompass the ancient Greek lorebooks, and incrementally receiving each of them per progression milestone is sure to garner those warm feelings of gratification once again. Still, that sense of achievement might be undermined by the fact that many of Kratos’s magic powers are quite similar to those he already possessed before they were discarded, like Samus’s suit upgrades. “Typhon’s Bane” is a magical bow and arrow combination that functions as Kratos’ long-ranged means of offense as “Zeus’s Lightning” once did, but I suppose it would be counterintuitive for Zeus to aid Kratos again, considering that his surrogate son is on a murderous warpath with him as his primary target. I’m convinced that the developers did a Google search on gorgons solely for the purpose of not reusing Medusa’s head as the tool that infamously immobilizes enemies into stone. Now, it’s her sister Eurayle’s hideous, decapitated head that Kratos flashes to enemies like an obnoxiously bright searchlight to then quickly smash them into rubble. One could argue that “Cronos’ Rage” is a severely diminished version of the absolute typhoon of electricity that was “Poseidon’s Rage,” but the smaller scale of the elemental attack depletes significantly less energy. Because of the comparative cost-effectiveness of this paralyzing electrical burst, I now use it practically as a crutch to render enemies as vulnerable as little lambs when they convulse wildly. Admittedly, the only semblance of originality between the foursome of magical moves here is the “Atlas Quake,” where Kratos stomps the ground with such ferocity that the impact of his foot fractures the Richter scale. As for the alternate melee weapon that can serve as substitutes for Kratos’ trademark chain blades, GoW II offers two distinct blunt instruments if one isn’t enough to make them defect from the series’ traditional means of combat. The barbarian hammer is a whopping tank of a weapon that makes any heavy-duty sledgehammer look ineffectual by comparison. Still, I prefer the “spear of destiny” that Kratos dislodges from the neck hole of a deceased griffin because the sharper, narrower utensil proved to penetrate the stubborn enemies that constantly block, whereas the other two fail to make a dent in their defenses. If all else fails, Kratos’ rage meter can now be triggered at any percentage point instead of needing to be full to activate. There are now also yellow energy pellets found in tandem with the health and energy ones that specifically charge the meter, so Kratos never has to wait long before unleashing his unbounded fury upon all that oppose him, and never flinches when stacking a combo chain. Or, they can reduce damage more organically by mastering Kratos’ counter move, which then channels the hazard intended to harm into a destructive energy he can volley back to them. Some may decry that Kratos’ move pool here is more shallow than what they’re already accustomed to, relating to either their derivativeness or less severe offensive output. However, I enjoy the fact that these powers have been subdued compared to their first game counterparts because it allows them to complement the chain blades instead of chugging through Kratos’ magic trying to substitute them. As a result, there is a synergy between all of the tools in Kratos’ arsenal, and combat is overall smoother and better defined.

But not all of God of War’s attributes required considerable revision; otherwise, I believe that more people would’ve been more critical towards it during its initial launch. If there is one aspect of God of War that is unquestionably the series’ continual tour de force, it’s the awe-striking spectacle fit for the grandiose Greek epic at its narrative and conceptual core. While the cinematic techniques of letting the developers’ keen eye direct the course of action are equally as prevalent in maintaining the scope of the spectacle at play here, what preserves its effectiveness is the fresh batch of settings and backdrops to marvel at. A trend I noticed regarding GoW II’s areas is that they seem to be more diverse than those of the first game. On his way to his destination with detours galore, Kratos will find himself in the grassy, damp “Bog of the Forgotten,” an ominous swamp that houses a temple in the catacombs of its thick layers of unkempt herbage. The flowing lava surrounding the mighty titan of Atlas may not be as sublime as the blood-red stream of the Underworld, but I prefer that the cavernous insides of the colossal creature arouse a feeling of exploration instead of crippling anxiety. “Typhon’s Cavernous Prison” is a glimpse into a snow-oriented area due to its high elevation in a mountain range, and the dimmed lighting inside the “Loom Chamber” aids in effectively exuding a sense of danger and wonder that simultaneously impresses the player and gives them the heebie-jeebies. Riding through the skies on the renowned flying horse Pegasus is practically the closest God of War will create something that can be classified as a “vehicle section,” snatching other winged mythical creatures with the chain blades while soaring majestically past the dense, blinding clouds. If I had to pick one sight and or setting whose spectacle induced that single-tear shedding moment, it would be hopping on the backsides of the “Steeds of Time,” marveling at the immensity of these equine architectures overlooking the gorgeous late afternoon sun over the horizon. Walking on the kilometer-spanning chain that connects this trio of animal-themed uber vessels from the “Temple of Lahkesis” is also a scene to behold because the camera shifts in front of Kratos to frame both the length of the chain and the distance between the two solid support foundations in a captivating wide lens shot. The bombastic cinematic flair matched with the apex of sixth-generation graphics definitely made the PS2 sweat like a sauna, but working the second Sony console to its breaking point was worth it to render a polygonal presentation of this caliber.

Maybe the reason why areas that comprise the narrative trajectory of GoW II seem more varied is due to the game pacing itself being a tad more tactful. Gone are the lengthy swathes of keeping Kratos in the same area for what feels like an eternity, and the fact that the sequel here trades what I call “panic puzzles” for more methodical brainteasers akin to those in a Zelda dungeon means that the player is less likely to be trapped in a maddening, Sisyphean loop attempting to overcome the same challenge. Perhaps areas feel more defined because there is a consistent streak of boss battles serving as solid progression points. It’s almost baffling how few significant foes were present over the course of the first God of War, and each of the three titanic tests of Kratos’ strength and dexterity was agonizing and bloated in its own particular ways. When GoW II multiplies the number of bosses from the first game in spades, every single one of them is surprisingly far more fair and functional on the player’s part as opposed to the excruciating duels subjected to them previously. Among all seventeen of these notable figures across the vast Greek mythos, I’ve discerned that they are all grouped in distinct categorizations. Similarly to the aforementioned Icarus, whose distinguishing wings Kratos plucks from his backside like rooting turnips from the earth, Kratos will be accosted by a series of other Greek legends whose tales are chronicled as fastidiously despite them being mortals juxtaposed with arcane creatures and Gods in the same pantheon. Theseus smugly, and stupidly, downplays the wrath of Kratos when he challenges the bald beast on the mast of one of the steeds, summoning the minotaurs he’s famous for slaying as assistance while he pelts Kratos with magic from above. “The Barbarian King” confronts Kratos once again after Ares infamously thwarted the man’s first opportunity to smash his head in like a pumpkin with his comically-sized hammer, and now he has the elevation and speed of being on horseback as advantages. He’s admittedly a figure fabricated by the minds of the developers, but he shares a similarity with the array of Greek legends in that they prove to be worthy opponents even though they stare down Kratos at the same, comparatively diminutive eye level. However, my kudos gets thrown out the window with Perseus, a whelp of a man whose ambition to conquer Kratos is laughable. The Kraken shares the behemoth size of the first God of War’s bosses, but all of my grievances with this feared pirate consumer are trivial nitpicks, such as the fact that there is no water to be found in his battle arena, and his face is far too personable for a grotesque sea leviathan. The Sisters of Fate can certainly be categorized by their blood relations, and they all offer distinctive battle attributes that equally engage the body as well as the mind. Still, two of the three sisters fall under a prevalent subcategory of bosses that showcase an alarming amount of nudity. Don’t get excited, dear reader, for Gorgon queen Eurayle is every man’s catfishing nightmare, and Clotho is like the Great Mighty Poo if the garganuan mass of excrement were covered from head to toe in mammary glands. It’s a sight that risks premature erectile dysfunction for any young, impressionable male players. Still, no matter the categorization each boss could potentially fall into, they all consistently offer a nuanced blend of combat and puzzle-oriented weak spot detections that never overstays its welcome or relies too heavily on button prompt sequences to automate the action.

So far, I’ve done nothing but commend GoW II for directly fixing all that I found fault with Kratos’ initial adventure. However, despite the glowing praise I’ve bestowed upon this sequel, there is still a revolting turd that the developers forgot to remove from their punchbowl. Of course, I am referring to the *fucking quicktime events,* God of War’s favorite method of manufacturing accomplishment with brainless button pushing. While my complaints still inherently stem from their overall inclusion, I have to admit that my least favorite aspect of God of War is at least more agreeable than they were in the previous title. QTE sequences no longer require the absurdly acute reflexes of a jungle cat, allowing the player to comprehend which button to press in a reasonable timeframe. While the button-oriented QTE sequences prove to be more lenient, any of them involving the analog stick are unfortunately just as inflexible, if not even more so, than they were in the previous game. Believe me, I rotated the rubbery control unit 360 degrees as gracefully as a figure skater, but the game still wasn’t satisfied with my attempt and punished me for my lack of perceived accuracy. I couldn’t execute a gorgon enemy in its weakened state for the life of me due to this quicktime requirement, so I always decided to hack at its lingering lifeforce to save myself the trouble. The QTE prompt may crumble to signify the player’s failure now, but I still need a clearer indication of WHAT I did wrong, in addition to informing me that I’ve failed. Unfortunately, even the button-oriented QTEs that I had foolishly begun to trust had reverted back to their former state of strictness during the game’s climax, where a reinvigorated future Kratos reverts the Sisters’ clock to demand a rematch against the Greek God patriarch Zeus. After several tense phases of swiftly dodging Zeus’s thunderous fists and absorbing his lightning with expertly-timed counters, Kratos realizes that, once Zeus enlarges himself again, besting the big man with brute force may not be a winning strategy. In a clever plan to lower Zeus’ guard, Kratos lowers his arms and submits defeat, which leads to Zeus shrinking and brandishing a blade above Kratos’ neck as he gestures a ritualistic execution. In order to prevent Zeus from smiting Kratos with a downward blade swipe, Kratos will counter only if the player presses the correct controller button that flashes on screen. The problem is, the window to press either one of four buttons is so skeletally slim that the player practically has to freeze-frame it like they’re analyzing the Zapruder film. In addition, the player must continue to pause this cutscene in order to ideally catch the following QTEs that commence Kratos violently plunging the Blade of Olympus into Zeus with a vengeance, rapidly blinking like the player has just accidentally squeezed lemon juice into their eyes. I understand that Zeus should serve as the pinnacle of challenges in this game, which is stacked with a staggering number of them, but this is the absolute worst direction to take to ensure that the father of the Gods will inflict the harshest punishment on the player. Did proficiently avoiding all of his firepower beforehand not prove to be ball-busting enough? Inexcusable.

I’m starting to think that my memory has failed me regarding the timeline of God of War’s legacy. I was confident that the gaming community lifted the series to the echelons of gaming’s greats as soon as the first title, but I’m beginning to believe that my recollections are hazy. With all that God of War II directly improves upon its predecessor, I’m now almost certain that 2007 is when Sony’s bloody homage to the classic Greek mythos became a contender for gaming greatness. I, myself, am so impressed with the various enhancements and changes on display that I’m now drinking the Kratos Kool-Aid, which probably kicks like Dave’s Insanity Sauce, knowing the figure fronting it. Still, I’m not guzzling it to the point of drunkenness like many other gamers, for no game that uses QTEs in this fashion should be considered for gaming royalty. Still, they’re not brazen enough for me to put the series’ legacy into contention as they were in the first game. I couldn’t appreciate the spectacle of the first game because it was beating me half to death with erroneous attributes. Now that they’ve mostly been ironed out, I give the God of War experience a round of emphatic applause.

Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 6/14/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin

Developer: Konami

Publisher: Konami

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: DS

Release Date: November 16, 2006

Alright, Konami, what have you managed to cook up this time? What two mystical-sounding nouns have you stuck between the word “of” to prolong Soma Cruz’s trials and tribulations in futuristic Japan into a trilogy? How many harassers will approach Soma and attempt to smite him for his extraordinary, vampiric birthright abilities? Will Soma and Mina develop romantic feelings for one another after experiencing two tumultuous ordeals together, or will Soma instead be smitten by the cataclysmic darkness that lingers in his soul? Will Hammer make a courageous pass at Yoko, and will she be flattered by his approach, or will she slap him one century further in the already too-advanced Castlevania timeline? Will the pistol make its return and actually sear lethal holes in Dracula’s minions as a firearm of its caliber should? Relax, as I’m sure all of these questions and more will be duly answered in Castlevania’s second outing on the Nintendo DS…

*receives cue card* Um, *ahem* it seems to me that I’ve been foolishly making outstanding assumptions on the content of this particular Castlevania release. In reality, Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin is not the second continuation of Soma Cruz’s arc of scorning his predetermined destiny, taking place in an outlandish setting in an outlandish time period that extends far beyond its predecessors. It is a wholly original entry with its own distinct characters, setting, premise, and plot that revolves around the conflict of Dracula’s presence or influence as a definitive thematic motif. When entertainment industries always feel inclined to round out their IPs into a trilogy, and Castlevania has never confidently continued its entries in sequential order since Simon’s Quest shit the bed, can you blame me for jumping the gun and deduce that I’d see Soma again for a third time? Actually, I’m quite relieved that Soma’s ongoing arc has been extinguished, for Dawn of Sorrow’s lack of distinctive identity that most, if not all, Castlevania can proudly flaunt, even when they’re not exemplary, was sadly lost when it decided to gallivant around in Aria’s skin. The awkward attempts at innovation with things like the DS touchpad seals only resulted in the uncanniness of it all setting in a greater sense of indifference-latent deja vu. For a moment, I thought that Dawn of Sorrow didn’t pick up Aria’s threads to further capitalize on its critical success, but the inherent conceptual continuation of a sequel could’ve masked the fact that Konami had finally exhausted the Castlevania idea well. Fortunately, Portrait of Ruin assuages my perturbed concerns of franchise fatigue that Dawn of Sorrow instilled, for it's one of the most distinctively innovative entries that has ever bestowed the Castlevania name.

Whereas Dawn of Sorrow was a direct sequel in the Castlevania timeline, Portrait of Ruin can be categorized as a “spiritual successor,” arguably the most overt case of this label that the series has seen thus far. The previous Castlevania title that Portrait of Ruin had decided to loosely carry the mantle of is Castlevania: Bloodlines, a Super Castlevania IV alternative on the Sega Genesis that has become underrated over time due to being overshadowed by the now-accessible Rondo of Blood that is deemed as the 16-bit franchise heavyweight. An interesting choice of an established chunk of the Castlevania timeline to resurrect and resume, but perhaps it helps that the plot backdrop of WW1 had its own spiritual successor in the broadest of terms possible. Because it’s canon that Dracula’s noxious imminence caused the tragic events of the First World War, one would assume that the evil lordship’s presence is ushering in a new slew of monumental human suffering in the early 1940s. However, the “Howling Man” cycle is being proactively perpetuated by an artist turned vampire named Brauner, who has resurrected Dracula’s castle with the rampant human suffering caused by the atrocities of WWII. As with the case of Bloodlines, the Belmonts are no longer the world’s prominent family of vampire killers, although the notion that they’ve gone extinct in the distant reaches of the Castlevania timeline has now been retconned due to the existence of Julius Belmont. Before the turn of the millennium, when Julius would reignite relevance to the Belmont clan and engender a sense of pride with his ancestors, the passionate, wartime vampire hunter, gutsy enough to look pure evil in its horrid face, is Jonathan Morris, the son of John Morris from Bloodlines. Portrait of Ruin habitually reminds the player that Jonathan’s whip, which he wields, is subpar compared to the almighty “Vampire Killer,” a righteous heirloom passed on to several generations of Belmonts. This trivial factoid sets a misleading precedent that we’re playing an inferior Castlevania title, and the fact that the main antagonist is but a pretender to Dracula’s prodigious throne only compounds its inadequacies. Personally, throwing a wrench into conventions is never an inherent handicap, and a series with such a storied history of repeating the same conflict between the same forces of abject good and evil needed some tweaking to preserve its freshness. With a cast exhibiting more flaws than usual, Portrait of Ruin can prove with humanistic subversion that the pen is mightier than the sword (or whip in this case, I suppose).

With the cheap, knock-off whip at his disposal, I suppose it’s a blessing that Jonathan isn’t forced to brave the daunting journey to the apex of Brauner’s imposter estate on his lonesome. Throughout the game, Jonathan is accompanied by Charlotte Aulin, a witch who is apparently the great-grandmother of Yoko Benaldes if my calculations are correct. Their character relationship from a narrative standpoint is that they are two (strictly platonic) friends from childhood with a shared obligation to intervene in supernatural malfeasances and bring the perpetrators to their knees. From a gameplay perspective, the dynamic between these two plucky youths is Portrait of Ruin’s most distinctive characteristic. Castlevania III was famously the first of its kind to incorporate the ambitious mechanic of playing as multiple characters simultaneously, and its execution of this radical notion was admittedly as smooth and convenient as a head-on car collision. That, and the characters that Trevor befriended on his quest to slay The Count, were ultimately still bit players that were eclipsed in the shadow of that era’s Belmont. In Portrait of Ruin, not only are the character transitions between Jonathan and Charlotte more effortlessly smooth than Barry White, but the vampire slayer and his female companion are of equal precedence in terms of both gameplay and narrative significance. Jonathan and Charlotte are tied to the hip like they are Siamese, if you please.

Essentially, the conjoined duo functions by splitting the two basic components of Castlevania’s combat in half, with Jonathan distinctly pronouncing one while Charlotte emphasizes the other. Conforming to the gender formalities of gaming, Jonathan is the blunt, militant melee user as the male, primarily using an assortment of weapons that include, but are not limited to, a selection of the series' staple whips. Conversely, Charlotte conjures up magic spells recited from a spellbook that run the gamut of elements and summonings, taking a less confrontational approach to combat. These core differences might illustrate some stark weaknesses for either character, but both still have a secondary array of attacks and abilities like any other Castlevania protagonist. Jonathan can fling the standard roulette of Castlevania subweapons like daggers and crosses, plus pocket a bounty of shockingly deadly cream pies like he’s a goddamn circus clown. Meanwhile, Charlotte can whack enemies with the book she normally flips the pages of for some modest physical damage output, and the book can be swapped for ones that feature fantastical perks when they’re used as a blunt object. Still, while these characters are well-rounded, it’ll be obvious to the player that the two exhibit a clear-cut contrast between the melee and magic combat classes from testing their respective strengths on the field. Oftentimes, the two will collaborate in certain scenarios, mostly involving reaching platforms that are slightly too elevated by hopping off of each other’s shoulders for an additional boost and pushing an object too heavy for one character to manipulate in its sitting position. The physical strength of every Castlevania protagonist put together couldn’t possibly halt the thunderous track of a moving train, but I digress. Jonathan and Charlotte can also combine their offensive properties together to perform an extravagant special attack, executing two flashy offensive moves simultaneously that amount to the same screen-spanning damage output as when Richter executed a screen-spanning super move in Rondo of Blood. The developers have evidently incorporated enough collaborative aspects to hone this gimmick to the forefront of Portrait of Ruin’s identity, and it is unlike anything the series has seen before.

Ultimately, the two characters still offer completely dissimilar styles of offense despite how well they gel as partners, so which character did I tend to gravitate towards for the duration of playing Portrait of Ruin? You’ll excuse me for feeling inclined to primarily pick Jonathan as the vessel for my interactive window into Portrait of Ruin, and it has nothing to do with my gender orientation because I hardly share commonalities with a hairless, Fabio-esque, pretty boy with glistening pectorals. Magic has always played a tangential role in Castlevania’s combat, and committing to a character that finally majors in its varied elemental possibilities feels discomforting. Playing as Charlotte is like taking up the oboe and going on tour with one’s new ambitions when they’ve played nothing but the saxophone since they were picking their noses in grade school. Sticking with the familiar instrument in Jonathan sustains my confidence as a Castlevania player, so I can virtuosically slay any unholy creature I might come across on the gothic grounds of the foreboding estate. Hell, having both characters on the field together practically displays an argument made by the developers to always feature Jonathan front and center, for the other character’s health bar becomes linked to the magic meter that drains with damage taken. What is Charlotte intended to do after CPU Jonathan carelessly bumrushes every combat scenario and depletes all of her mana? Hope that the enemies are small enough to squish like bugs? Still, when either protagonist is running solo, it’s impressive how Charlotte’s mode of gameplay is as refined, balanced, and capable as Jonathan’s is, despite it being the backend portion of the series’ combat for so long. Personally, cracking a whip with Jonathan makes me more comfortable because of the familiarity, but for those who are more adventurous than I, Charlotte is still a perfectly viable option.

Then again, I can confidently state that swapping to Charlotte from time to time had less to do with my guilt-ridden disparities that most would just attribute to sexism and more with the fact that the game will often prompt the player to utilize Charlotte’s peculiar talents to hurdle over obstacles. A Castlevania character's magic tricks often serve as keys that unlock the hindered passageways in a Metroidvania’s distinguishing ability-gated progression snags. Because Jonathan is a meathead muggle, it is Charlotte who must proactively transform into a frog to crawl through tight corridors and an owl to soar to lofty heights on the map, and so far and so forth. Some enemies like the blobs will quickly disintegrate with Charlotte’s magic, while Johanthan can hardly penetrate their gooey hides with his whip, and any distinctly female enemy, like the liliths and the succubi, will only react to the stinging lacerations of Jonathan’s whip. Pertaining to how each character’s differences both affect and maneuver through the castle’s obstacles, I feel slightly conflicted. On one hand, it would be a shame to neglect giving one character any attention when the two protagonists are such a tightly-knit pairing. On the other hand, the fluid balance between either character’s unique attributes should ideally allow the player to soar over a designated skill ceiling by prioritizing one character like an RPG class. When the game features character-specific enemies and obstacles, the element of player choice that the character selection should cultivate starts to unveil some compulsory transparencies.

A mandatory swapping between Jonathan and Charlotte occurs most prevalently during the encounters with Portrait of Ruin’s bosses. When the duo enters the domain of one of these formidable foes, having to use one character’s assets in order to vanquish them doesn’t bother me as much as standard combat while traversing, for finding which one of them beats the barrier of their defenses is delightfully puzzle-oriented. For example, in the engaging fight against the Cleopatra-esque Astarte, she will likely seduce Jonathan with her beguiling, feminine charms by shooting a lightning-fast line of heart darts. Charlotte’s spells won’t even slightly bruise this seductress, so it’s essential to prevent Jonathan from becoming hypnotized and twidderpated at all costs. Keremet can be obliterated in under a minute if the player summons the NPC protagonist to keep hitting the massive cauldron he’s housed in, which will expose the head of the giant, possessed pool of mucus enough for the player to whack at it like a piñata. The requisite Death fight itself is as hectic as always, but having the esteemed reaper change his color to signify which character he’s vulnerable to is a lazier, condescending form of the alternating character scheme that was implemented far more cleverly for the fights beforehand. Furthermore, Keremet is the only example of a competent collaborative boss battle between Jonathan and Charlotte, or at least if the final boss of the game is meant to fit this categorization. In the first phase of Dracula’s fight once the Count is fully resurrected, Death will fight alongside his master for the first time in series history. Imagine if they did this during the NES days (I would fucking kill myself)! I believe that the NPC protagonist is intended to join the player in this kerfuffle of icons to equalize the number of combatants, but the NPC won’t have the same sentient alertness to dodge the plethora of hazards that clutter the screen as one would expect from a duet between Dracula and Death. The developers should’ve stuck with the stance of playing smarter, not harder, as they seemed to have expressed earlier on.

So how does the design of Dracula’s castle fare when it’s been manufactured by a lesser vampire? Adequately enough, I guess. Really, it’s arguably the most apparent recurring aspect stripped from previous Metroidvania Castlevanias since Aria of Sorrow designed the template. The castle comprises areas that exhibit a cavalcade of Castlevania-level motifs, such as a clock tower, a sewer, and other spacious, opulent setpieces galore. The entrance still houses a hub of sorts where our heroic duo can purchase wares from a merchant held up in a remote, inconspicuous corner of the castle so he isn’t ransacked by monsters. This time, due to the circumstances of the timeline, the merchant is mild-mannered Vincent with monk garb and an awful bowl cut instead of Hammer. Reinvigorating the castle’s design was not a focal priority of the developers for Portrait of Ruin, and this is not conjecture based on my observations. The reason why the castle is rather formulaic is that it’s now sharing the space with a series of sublevels that branch from different parts of the castle at appropriate progression lengths away. When the player finds a floating painting sizable enough to fit the decor of an extravagant mansion such as Dracula’s domain, they can warp inside the framed piece of artwork and explore its vast and intricate landscape within. The locales of the paintings vary, but they all share a similar theme of deviating from the cohesive, architectural rationale of what’s appropriate for Dracula’s castle. “City of Haze” adopts the quaint, modestly industrialized aesthetic of a late Victorian period town square, while “Sandy Grave” consists of the typical iconography associated with ancient Egypt. “Nation of Fools” is symmetrical in its map design, but the foreground is anything but orderly in this twisted carnival. Lastly, the “Forest of Doom’ is the grounds of an abandoned educational facility surrounded by a spooky, feculent swamp. While none of these areas could be feasibly squeezed into the architectural borders of a castle, they all exude a horror-adjacent mystique that is more than fitting for the series’ aesthetic and atmosphere. Some may believe that attaching these protruding areas onto the host body of Dracula’s castle is a sensible way to refurbish the typical series setting, while others may bemoan that these portraits ruin the contained cohesion of a Metroidvania setting (this isn’t seriously what the title is alluding to, is it?). I verge towards the more optimistic former category, although there are some genuine grievances I have regarding these subsidiary areas. Naturally, due to their smaller significance, they aren’t as sprawling as Dracula’s castle, but this isn’t the issue. The progression for each of the sublevels is a fairly straightforward trek from the entrance to its boss, failing to facilitate the revisitation ingredient of the Metroidvania design philosophy with obscured health and magic upgrades or spells. As a result of neglecting to capture the richness of exploration and backtracking to a lesser extent, Portrait of Ruin has an incredibly hasty sense of pacing.

The sole exception to this constant rule of jumping from one place to the next with little to no overlap is transforming Charlotte into a toad so she can dig through the sands of “Sandy Grave” to find a spell needed to unlock the game’s “true ending.” At certain progression points, Jonathan and Charlotte will meet Stella and Loretta, Brauner’s vampiric daughters, who confront our protagonists to halt the ascent to their dad’s domain. Due to contextual evidence discovered through their encounters, it’s heavily implied that Jonathan and Charlotte shouldn’t smite them when they are fought together near the towering peak of Dracula’s castle. After managing to accomplish the painstaking, luck-intensive task of protecting Charlotte while she generates the “sanctuary spell,” unleashing the blast of purification reverts the sisters back to their conscious human forms. In preparation to confront their patriarchal guardian, Jonathan and Charlotte must first visit four new portraits, which practically doubles the length of the experience. While the unsatiated feeling left by the first half’s penchant to rush through progress is quelled, there is an uncanny parallel between these portraits and the previous four. The nocturnal, peyote-laced glow of “Forgotten City” isn’t enough to distract from the fact that it shares the same sand-drenched setpieces as the similar area beforehand, nor does the “Dark Academy” feature too much discernibility from “Forest of Doom.” Then it hit me: this section is Portrait of Ruin’s “inverted half,” the extension period of the late game that occurs after the player solves the riddle of the “final boss” ruse. Because this prolonged period of the game is segmented by four individual levels, it doesn’t exude the same magnitude as playing through Symphony’s castle in reverse does, nor does it allow the player to explore the settings at their own pace without the utility-gated obstructions that protracted the game’s first half. At least this section is not as nauseatingly convoluted as when Harmony of Dissonance previously tried to capture Symphony’s second half for itself, and the duels against the classic Castlevania monsters, such as Medusa and Frankenstein’s creature, are the most multifaceted and exhilarating iterations of these mythical beasts.

Flunking the test the game gives the player when they fight the sisters is especially unfortunate this time around because it shows that the player wasn’t paying attention to the game’s admirably-written characters and the unfolding story events that surround them. When I proposed that Portrait of Ruin’s “deficient” characters would add some human substance to the narrative, it was really a rhetorical precedent to set up how personable they are across the board. For starters, Jonathan and Charlotte’s dynamic involves more than just their contrasting offensive attributes. Where Jonathan is the bullheaded, determined hero who acts on a whim, Charlotte is the logical, pragmatic type who keeps her friend from getting hurt or worse from his rash decisions. Brauner may be a disappointment compared to the frightening eminence of Dracula, but he’s still worthy to momentarily sit in his proverbial throne because he’s a villain with intriguing motivations. We learn from the contents of a locket that Brauner’s daughters are actually the pride and joys of the dearly departed Bloodlines protagonist, Eric Lecarde, who has been monitoring the operation to retrieve them from the damning grasp of Brauner in his transparent, purgatorial form under the pseudonym “Wind.” The reason why Brauner has brainwashed the girls into thinking that he’s their father is that Brauner lost his own two daughters in the violent midst of the First World War, finding convenient surrogates to remedy the immense pain of their tragic loss. Not since Dracula’s backstory was divulged in Symphony has Castlevania’s main antagonist elicited a shred of sympathy from the player, and he’s an example that people tend to gravitate towards darkness and evil when they are consumed by intense feelings of anger and grief, rather than a postulated prophecy like with Soma. Another highlight of Portrait’s nuanced character writing is its depiction of Death. Brauner, taking the mantle of his master, Dracula, greatly irks the king of the dead. Therefore, he slices the perceived fraud in half with his monumental scythe at the first chance, which ushers in the new reign of the castle’s true king in Dracula. I’d always assumed that Death was just Dracula’s messenger in the caste of dark executives in the supernatural world, but the zealotry he exudes here makes him more vile than usual.

No Soma, no souls, no godforsaken seals, no problem! Castlevania: Portrait of Ruin deviates from the series trajectory that Dawn of Sorrow continued in the neo-Castlevania zone that was once revolutionary when Aria of Sorrow established it. Because Dawn of Sorrow proved that even the most radical of Castlevania evolutions can quickly burn out on the player with repetition, Portrait of Ruin is the realization that the series excels when the developers are experimenting with the series formula and thematic properties as they did for several entries in the past, which was deeply diminished when Dawn of Sorrow treaded on territory that was too familiar for its own good. The innovations that Portrait of Ruin contributes to the seasoned Castlevania series are equally as comprehensive as they are commendatory, even though some of them, such as the portrait levels, could use some further reconsideration. With its story and characters as zestful and complex as those from Aria, we’re reminded that Castlevania has hit its cerebral peak of excellence, and Portrait continues this trend without question. Now, all that every subsequent entry needs to do is carve out its own methodology of executing a high-quality Castlevania game to keep the series standing, lest they make the same mistakes as Dawn of Sorrow. No pressure!

Spyro 2: Ripto's Rage Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 6/12/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Spyro 2: Ripto's Rage

Developer: Insomniac

Publisher: SCEI

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: PS1

Release Date: November 2, 1999

You know exactly what I’m going to say about Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage even before my first sentence. Yes, indeed, it’s a sequel that expands the parameters that the primitive base of the first game laid out and practically perfects the formula with its enhancements. By now, I’m sick to death of this statement being the overarching summation for almost every second game in most series, but it’s especially applicable to Ripto’s Rage. The little, purple dragon that could was a charming protagonist in a whimsical world that evoked all of the textbook tropes associated with the fantasy mythos of the Western world, with a pinch of irreverence to appeal to a more jaded modern audience. There was nothing inherently wrong with Spyro’s concept, aesthetic, or mechanical properties, but the first entry in Insomniac’s 3D platformer series faltered entirely because of its direction. Spyro 1 was as short and effortless as walking to one’s mailbox, a byproduct of what I can assume to be a conscious effort from the developers to placate their exceedingly young demographic. If we take a glance at gaming from a historical lens, several titles that share a similar atmosphere of innocence to Spyro have a reputation for breaking the spirits of the impressionable youths that play them, still being captivated by every minute of adversity, all the while. Gaming is arguably the only medium where a product’s content and its accessibility are interchangeable, probably stemming from the early days when kids everywhere were allured by the digital glow of the arcades just to have the machines beat them senselessly for their quarters like a common, back-alley thug. Spyro didn’t need to brutalize the children of the late 1990s, new to the realm of 3D or anything too drastic, but the game diluted many of gaming’s hallmarks, such as layered level progression and boss fights, for the sake of unnecessarily assuaging their audience. I’m glad that the first Spyro’s shortcomings were as obvious to Insomniac, for the sequel here has rectified them a good bit as part of its cultivation process to become the exemplary Spyro title.

Spyro evidently did such an outstanding job saving the dragon elders in the first game that the unsuspecting, pint-sized powerhouse is now a freelance hero, liable to be hired to fix any dilemma that might befall the realm of the dragons and its immediate surroundings. Spyro and his glowing insect buddy Sparx clamor for a vacation, but as the common police officer adage goes, crime doesn’t take a vacation. Instead of frivolously soaking up the sun’s rays on the Dragon Shores, the portal transports them to the far-off fantasy land of Avalar, where its denizens are in dire need of a dragon’s vigor and destructive potency. Apparently, the portal used to summon Spyro accidentally warped a dwarvish, orange megalomaniac named Ripto into their tranquil realm, and now he’s imposing on his inadvertent invitation by progressively usurping their land and becoming its despotic ruler. Before Ripto has the chance to traipse through every official significant castle with the tapestry of his unsightly visage that indicates his control, Spyro must exterminate the invasive pest along with his monstrous, ogre-like bodyguards of Crush and Gulp. Immediately, Ripto is ten times the antagonist that Gnasty Gnorc was in the first game. By adding tension to the conflict, the growing influence of this malevolent, Napoleon-esque pipsqueak, the player feels better incentivized to light a self-inflicted fire under Spyro’s ass and save the hapless inhabitants of this realm that Ripto feels no scruples in subjugating. There are some genuine stakes to the story, while scrounging the land to free the elders from their encasements felt borderline janitorial in practice.

Much of the enhancements and overall broadening of the Spyro formula that Ripto’s Rage implements revolves around the attributes that Spyro interacts with, but there should be some mention of the marginal changes the developers put into our plucky, purple scamp. Spyro is pretty organically gifted as a platformer protagonist, with inexhaustible energy for head-butting and innate fire-breathing ability fulfilling the qualifications of offense against most, if not all, enemies. Still, a little more variation on what is already agreeably competent couldn’t hurt to re-engage returning players. Spyro’s glide move, which he can also execute gracefully on account of the scaly, majestic wings protruding from his sides, is now augmented with an upward boost that finishes his flight, perfect for ensuring better accuracy with landing on platforms found from a great distance. Since Spyro’s traversal through the air could only have been tinkered with ever-so-slightly from a practical standpoint, the developers found it crucial for the purple dragon to occupy a whole new sphere of character-specific spaces. After some heavy contention in the boardroom, the developers decided not to prolong Spyro’s aversion to water like a platformer protagonist stereotype and conveniently insert swimming into the list of Spyro’s dragon-centric abilities. Not only will Spyro be able to keep himself physically afloat by paddling himself on the water’s surface. Soon after discovering his new ability, he’ll even be able to dive beneath the surface and swim underwater, and I guess the lack of an air gauge to mind suggests that a set of gills is another component to a dragon’s biology. With the way that Spyro treads through the deep with agile elegance, it’s hard to believe that he was ever handicapped by large bodies of H2O. In addition, any underwater section in Ripto’s Rage is absolutely spellbinding, impressively setting the player in a radically different physical plane without the primitive 3D graphics compromising on the immersion. Spyro can also learn how to execute a downward dive on land, which weaponizes the force of his skull into a rock and crate-breaking slam. With all of these new skills Spyro learns throughout the duration of Ripto’s Rage, none of them seem to overstep his simplistic beauty as a platformer character. Each innovation feels like they were staircase thoughts the developers wanted to add to their protagonist initially, instead of shoehorning in attributes for the sake of sprucing up a sequel.

Another quality-of-life improvement on Spyro, or at least in my subjective opinion, is the tweaking of his voice. Carlos Alazraqui is a perfectly wonderful voice actor, but his line delivery for our underestimated hero gave us more reason to doubt his capabilities, and if he had underwear, wrap it over the top of a flagpole. Instead of asking Mr. Alazraqui to lessen the nasally cadence of Spyro’s voice, Insomniac decided to just axe him in favor of Tom Kenny, aka the voice of SpongeBob. Ironically, for someone whose most notable role is defined by a high-pitched, squeaky affectation, Tom Kenny sufficiently lowers Spyro’s voice to an adequate octave to make him less grating when he speaks. Or, perhaps the kinks in Spyro’s voice are less noticeable this time around because the dialogue in Ripto’s Rage is spoken to Spyro rather than the inverse. Not only are the various NPCs per level quite chatty with their requests, but the series has taken the Sonic the Hedgehog approach to broadening an IP by integrating a slew of secondary characters into the mix with Spyro and his mute dragonfly buddy Sparx. Once Spyro is transported to Avalar, he’s debriefed on the prevailing dilemma by the trio of recurring characters, who also aid him throughout his quest to quell Ripto. Elora the faun seems to introduce every significant progression point in the three different overworlds, helpfully updating Spyro on the mission at hand. “The Professor,” an elderly mole-like creature, is a man of science if his glasses and lab coat combination didn’t visually suggest it. Using his mechanical prowess, he’ll often provide access to certain levels in the overworld by activating their respective warp gates. Lastly, Hunter the Cheetah is the comic relief whom the other two constantly reprimand for his oafishness. The bipedal cat still possesses a spunky charisma, I guess. From what we know from the aforementioned series that infamously bloated itself with excess faces clogging the screen, adding all of these supporting characters spells imminent disaster for the Spyro series. For now, the Avalar faction is fine and dandy in adding some extra dynamics to the story with their varied personalities and ubiquitous yet subordinate roles. Their presence, however, will only be palatable if they are endemic to Avalar in this game alone or if the series persists with them and only them moving forward. The series is already treading on thin ice by augmenting the character roster, especially since they all have too much fur on their bodies for comfort, which is likely to attract the worst kinds of Sonic fans.

Oh, and we can’t forget about Moneybags, the aristocratic bear who aptly speaks in a posh accent to signify his opulent wealth and social status. Considering his debonair, exalted outfit and demeanor, matched with the assets around Avalar that he seemingly lets Spyro borrow for a fee of gems, one would think he’s the governing force of the land whose power and influence Ripto covets. He’s obviously a contemptible character by design, but I don’t think the hoity-toity bear is an unwelcome stain on Ripto’s Rage because he’s an integral aspect of adding depth to the overall Spyro experience. Because Moneybags is an impediment that blocks immediate progression with a sum of currency needed, it not only gives the gems more value; it also incentivizes the player to become better acquainted with the nooks and crannies of each level where gems might be found. In turn, the exploration process fixes the issue of the series levels feeling in one ear and out of the other.

I would say that the level designs in Ripto’s Rage are the focal point of the amplification initiative of Ripto’s Rage, but one wouldn’t know that at face value. The main objective for each of these levels persists as simply traveling to an arbitrary goal point, which grants Spyro another collectible and unlocks the exit warp gate to signify completion. Unlike the first game, where every level’s objective consistently applied to the overarching goal of finding the elders and freeing them, the level-ending conditions of the areas in Ripto’s Rage feature a myriad of situations. In “Aquaria Towers,” Spyro will resupply the seahorse society with water after a group of diving-suited hooligans has drained it. Similarly, in “Magma Cone,” Spyro must find a way to cease the eruption of a local volcano, which has been spurting molten lava since a band of mischievous Earthshapers unsealed its tip to inconvenience a tribe of fauns. Other level highlights include the Arab-esque “Shady Oasis” that sees Spyro accompanying a hippopotamus cub to a tall pillar while Spyro feeds him fruit that momentarily transforms the boy into a hulking beast that smashes through the gated barriers. The Eskimo NPCs of “Crystal Glacier” will also return the favor to Spyro when he thaws out their frozen captivity by helping him through level impediments. There is even some inner realm cohesion between “Zephyr” and “Breeze Harbor,” with both areas waging war with one another and Spyro acting as a double agent working for the benefit of both sides. Is Spyro intending for the conflict to result in a draw by doing this? “Metropolis” is the token futuristic level that is uncharacteristic for the series, but the ultra-advanced environment still doesn’t complicate the process of Spyro traveling from point A to B while platforming and scorching enemies with his fire breath along the way. Rescuing the Satyrs in “Fractured Hills” from their stony confinements is the task most reminiscent of the first game’s general mission, but the mythical, hedonistic goat hybrids will actually repay Spyro by blowing away chunks of an obscured fortress with the playing of bagpipes. I’m not sure if this scene is intended to display the underlying power of the instrument or if it’s a further comment on its shrillness. If delving into the levels of Ripto’s Rage feels like one of my patented highlight reels, it’s because I can’t describe all of them succinctly in one paragraph. Instead of increasing the breadth of Spyro’s levels, the developers decided to swell each realm with eight levels, subtracting the inordinate amount to four for the “Winter Tundra” realm. Sure, there were twenty total levels in the first game, but it highlights a persisting problem with Spyro’s progression direction. Even though the NPCs introducing the scenes and scenarios never repeat themselves, the fact that they all amount to the same brief, linear trek to an endpoint so many times still evokes the underwhelming terseness that plagued the first game.

However, the fleeting feeling that comes with completing a Spyro level only pertains to achieving the main collectible of the talismans, level-specific trinkets that signify a sign of bonding between Spyro and the folk of these levels that he aids. To implore the player to deviate from the fixed, narrow path of bare minimum victory, the developers have added orbs as the game’s “secondary collectible.” Upon exploring what lies beyond the beaten path to a talisman, Spyro will find new situations that are either entirely removed from the area’s central scenario or extend upon the overarching conflict. Solving said tangential situation will net Spyro an orb as a reward for his splendid deed, which can range from collecting gears on a trolley in “Breeze Harbor,” playing ice hockey in “Colossus,” saving a tribe of cavemen from being eaten whole by carnivorous raptor hatchlings, etc. Hunter is commonly involved in plenty of orb gathering opportunities, whether it be collaborating with the doofus by collecting monkeys in the arid land of “Scorch,” or competing against him in grabbing volcanic crystals that jet out of the ground in “Magma Cone.” I guess his role as a fieldman justifies his placement among Elora and The Professor, because he sure as shit doesn’t offer any tactical advice or medical assistance. Methinks Insomniac took a glimpse at a certain N64 Rareware title that released the same year as the first Spyro game and decided to take a liberal helping from that game’s freeform progression philosophy. I can’t say I blame Insomniac, for you’d have to put every 3D platformer developer on trial for shamelessly aping Banjo Kazooie’s template forevermore after 1999, sequel or not. Like the buoyantly animated N64 exclusive that Spyro 2 has obviously reinterpreted, orb quests greatly facilitate a sense of exploration, motivating the player to experience the full expanse of a level. Plus, the diverse tasks needed to obtain these orbs add a desperately-needed layer of difficulty with their unfamiliar conditions.

Still, Insomniac should’ve copied Banjo Kazooie's collectible course right down to its last detail, for Spyro 2 commits something erroneous with the orbs that is the developer’s unique doing. I described the orbs as a secondary collectible in quotation marks because what the game doesn’t reveal until its final stretches is that they have more precedence in progression than the talismans. In fact, the final realm forgoes talismans entirely in favor of focusing on the orbs, so the player can feasibly fulfill the steep total of 40 needed to unlock the barrier between the player and the final boss. It’s made abundantly clear that collecting orbs is still necessary to progress the game in incidental increments, but the sudden swap that occurs is downright deceitful. Because the player is duped into thinking that the orbs were only necessary in minor instances and the talismans were the main collectible driving progression, this results in a large swath of backtracking that wedges an obstructive boulder in the game’s pacing. Sure, locking the pathway to some orbs behind skills that are initially unlearnable already implies that backtracking was a consciously implemented factor by the developers, but the return time to previous levels is extended unduly because of this flagrant form of miscommunication.

In those progression milestones, whether they be contingent on the collecting of orbs or talismans, access is unlocked for the game’s bosses. Returning players may treat this requisite video game trope with a lack of enthusiasm, as the first game proved that having the dragon chase you is not as intoxicating as the popular inverse. Insomniac totally scraps their baffling, facile boss formula and exhibits some bona fide bosses for their sequel. Crush, Gulp, and Ripto are the bosses fought between traveling to the next realm, a modest lineup but one that remains consistent with the stakes the story sets up from the beginning. Crush channels fire and electric energy before becoming frustrated with Spyro thwarting him, caving in the ceiling, and having the rubble fall on his head as a result of his temper. Gulp fires energy blasts from the laser cannon strapped to his back, which genuinely take some swift, proficient dodging maneuvers to avoid while Spyro combats him with the array of explosives the bird fleet overhead provides. Lastly, the battle against the big (in the sense of status) orange cheese is an epic escapade divided into three distinct phases to elongate the scope of this appropriately formidable boss fight. I might be marveling at these three duels due to the first game lowering the bar so deeply that what qualifies as a boss fight became as imperceptible as the contents of the abyss in which they reside. Still, I believe that the developers have now crafted an exceptional arrangement of climactic skirmishes that supersede simply fulfilling the requisites of health bars, phases, and other factors that should comprise a competent boss fight.

Spryo 2: Ripto’s Rage expectedly surpasses the debut title in the series in spades, but I feel a tad hesitant in assigning it as the apex of the series, as I felt comfortable doing at first based on common trends across video game series. The levels incorporate more substance by adding auxiliary objectives that prolong their visit time to a satisfying length, and I no longer need to contemplate the definition of a boss fight because the baddies of Ripto’s Rage deliver on their expectations splendidly. Spyro’s new friends add a layer of exuberance to the story, while Spyro’s voice no longer makes me irrationally angry at him. What else could anyone want from Insomniac’s deadly dragon tyke? Actually, I’d really like the series to stop offering objectives where the player can just breezily hike to a goal in under a minute and call it a day. If the developers had made the orbs the game’s sole progression collectible, the player could’ve chosen which objectives would fulfill the requirements and focused on the more engrossing, substantial challenges littered throughout the field a little less conspicuously. Still, maybe the simple stipulations of standard progression are an indelible factor to Spyro’s accessible format, but I wish that the developers either firmly established that the “talisman routes” were the ways to progress the game instead of drastically deciding that the orbs held more significance at the last minute. Spyro 2: Ripto’s Rage undoubtedly stands head and shoulders over its predecessor, but the salient smudges the game inadvertently exhibits only make me fret for future entries when this is considered to be the series' peak.