Ratchet & Clank Future: Tools of Destruction Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/18/2025)

[Image from igdb.com]

Ratchet & Clank Future: Tools of Destruction

Developer: Insomniac

Publisher: SCEI

Genre(s): 3D Platformer, Third-Person Shooter

Platforms: PS3

Release Date: October 23, 2007

Sometimes, I lament that I didn’t purchase a PS3 during the console’s prime. Similar to the preceding generation, I owned two-thirds of the prime console representatives during the seventh generation of gaming due to a lack of disposable income as a pre-teen/teenager, and or indifference to one console’s exclusives. I did not own the original Xbox during my initial introduction to the world of gaming, and that would’ve been the case for its HD follow-up with the circular degree subtitle. However, EVERY single one of my friends during that era owned Microsoft’s sequel console due to the allure of Halo and the trash-mouthed trenches of Xbox Live, so I was compelled to comply with the status quo and strictly become a “social gamer” until the 360’s reign had run its course. Looking back, I think I cherish watching films and TV shows remotely with my friends through the 360’s Netflix app above playing most of the multiplayer modes across the console’s vast lineup. Sure, my teenage life outside of gaming would’ve been different if I had not submitted to popular demand, but my overall experience with the entertainment medium from roughly 2008-2014 would’ve been more enriching if I had stuck with the Sony brand I knew. Several solid exclusive titles for the PS3 slipped through my fingers, and some of the titles that I had tragically missed are the slew of Ratchet & Clank sequels. I absolutely adored the original trilogy of games regarding Insomniac’s 3D platformer-shooter hybrid on the PS2, and Going Commando and Up Your Arsenal easily rank as some of my all-time favorites. Alas, I evidently didn’t love the furry guy and his robot friend enough to purchase the console that contained their subsequent adventures. Finally, as an adult, I accrued enough of my own money to remedy my past mistakes, purchasing a now-defunct PS3 for relatively cheap and a copy of Ratchet & Clank’s first foray into the then-next generation: Tools of Destruction. It was highly unlikely that the futuristic duo’s first PS3 romp was going to overthrow the champions of my childhood, so I lowered my expectations in that regard. However, plenty of unforeseen grievances kept cropping up with Tools of Destruction, making me question the quality of a mainline Ratchet & Clank game for the first time (Deadlocked doesn’t count. Fight me).

Let me just gush over the game’s presentational qualities for a second. Even though I had seen plenty of screenshots and gameplay footage of Tools of Destruction since its release, I never truly felt the extent of the game’s glossy, nouveau sheen until I experienced it in an intimate range. The series of Ratchet & Clank games on the PS3 all included the subtitle “future” to possibly wedge some conceptual discernibility between them and the PS2 titles, but it could easily also apply to the leap into a high-definition display of video game graphics. What better way to flaunt the crystal-clear fidelity of the next generation by buffing the series staple setting of the Kerwan metropolis? After our duo crashes their futuristic vehicle after conducting some unsuccessful tests on it, their journey through their current address that we’ve seen plenty of times before now shines as radiantly as the light beaming through a stained-glass church window. Kerwan’s “Metropolis” has always exuded an aura of busyness, especially since it's a city of the distant future where the overall activity around the area is expected to exceed any city congestion we can possibly fathom. The PS2 games did a fair job at least conveying the intended atmosphere of such a setting, but the perk of high-definition really homes in on the magnificence of the urban sprawl. The level of detail in both the foregrounds and backgrounds is impeccable, with dozens upon dozens of towering buildings looking as if they were constructed with reinforced steel only found in the esoteric reaches of this far-off galaxy. Air traffic looks to be dizzyingly hectic, and I swear that I can see Ratchet’s reflection in that golden Qwark statue found in one of the setting’s many plaza squares. This prologue tutorial section also sees the return of grind rails after Up Your Arsenal omitted them as part of its action-intensive initiative. While every fan should be gleeful that this precarious form of automated platforming is making its triumphant return, let's be honest, it’s integrated here to give the player a grand tour of the graphical spectacle of the urban environment surrounding it. Fritz Lang would’ve shed a single tear if he had lived long enough to witness this showcasing of a futuristic society that he provided the template for so long ago. I realize that this game is almost two decades old at this point and may not uphold the graphical quality that is achievable in present-day gaming, but as an avid Ratchet & Clank fan who has only seen the series through the slightly fuzzy display of standard definition, it’s an awe-striking treat through and through.

Perhaps the introductory segment in Kerwan sets a misleading precedent for the remaining duration of the game, implying that all of the following areas are HD retreads of familiar planets from the Solana Galaxy. However, Ratchet and Clank’s first HD adventure orbits around the Polaris Galaxy, which is being subjugated by a pint-sized, staff-wielding tyrant named Emperor Percival Tachyon, whose prejudice against Ratchet stems from the Lombaxes wiping out his species in a great war that occurred eons ago. Need I remind everyone that this antagonist was created by the same developer who brought Ripto into existence? I’ve heard of a Napoleon complex, but a Napoleon fetish? Anyways, the series of celestial bodies under the diminutive dictator’s control is rendered equally exquisitely as the familiar stomping grounds of the franchise. On Planet Cobalia, which follows the Kerwan prologue, the immediate trajectory will eventually lead Ratchet to a more industrial settlement in the midst of a humid wasteland with savage alien creatures. It’s similar to finding the abandoned Megacorp Outlet on Planet Oozla in Going Commando, but there’s a certain cinematic framing while in the manmade section of Cobalia that evokes the same impressive flow of activity present across Kerwan. The lava surrounding Planet Rykan IV illuminates the station at its center beautifully, and Planet Fastoon effectively illustrates the fallout of the former Lombax civilization. Space piloting segments also return after Up Your Arsenal deemed them unfit to coexist with shooting, and the pulsars and starry superclusters that comprise the visual backdrop are akin to the most extravagant light show imaginable. Space is the place, indeed.

It’s a given at this point that Tools of Destruction looks good enough to eat, but does it fix the issue of linearity that Up Your Arsenal was rife with in the name of pronouncing high-octane shooting action? Marginally, I guess. The number of planets that feature branching paths as the series used to provide is available, but are ultimately sparse in their appearances. The robotic space pirate hub of Planet Ardolis has a grind rail to the left side of the entrance, and following this detached road to its end will result in Ratchet acquiring the component of his armor that magnetizes bolts to it. This planet also obliges the player to revisit it once they obtain the pirate disguise, and unlocking the pathways with said outfit will lead the player towards some golden bolts for their troubles. Other than the instances on Ardolis, other ways in which Tools of Destruction fractures the A to B linearity of shooting hostile shite to bits can be argued if they qualify as such. Mostly, it’s the occurrences of searching for formidable alien leviathans to then trade their souls to a grizzled smuggler, harkening back to killing races of mammoth monsters to collect crystals in Going Commando. The Jurassic jungles of Planet Sargasso provide the traditional wide open plains similar to the settings that fostered this kind of exploration in the series’ second PS2 title, but I think I prefer warping between portals on the remote Nundac Asteroid Ring just for the novelty of this transportation method alone. Ratchet’s new gruff-speaking, toothpick-chewing friend’s black market connections make him the only one fit to sell this game’s iteration of everyone’s favorite juggernaut missile launcher in the universe: the RYNO IV. However, instead of having Ratchet pay an exorbitant amount of bolts for it or give it to him as a reward for completing the game and starting NG+, Ratchet needs to find the scattered schematics for the smuggler to build the weapon in the first place. Finding the blueprints for the series' most famous acronym takes a considerable amount of scrounging around off the beaten path, and the constant process of meticulously looking around every nook and cranny between every wooden box constitutes enough non-linear exploration to satisfy me, with all things considered.

Because the RYNO is in pieces for the vast majority of the game’s run time, the player will have to settle for the inferior array of weaponry purchased from the electronic vendors located with every checkpoint. Still, the eclecticism of Ratchet’s arsenal is arguably the series’ most notable idiosyncrasy, so the new slew of futuristic weapons to use will be an exciting prospect as always. Unfortunately, much of the selection in store here indicates that the weapons have bunked themselves into tropes based on their functional similarities to those from the previous games. “The Combuster” is your run-of-the-mill blaster that aids the player through the less complicated terrain of the early game, the “Buzz Blades” are the same bouncing barrage of sharp circular objects we’ve seen before, and the burst of needles that erupts after every shot of the “Shard Reaper” can’t fool me from the fact that it’s a glorified shotgun. The “Shock Ravager” isn’t inherently derivative as an energized, alternate melee weapon, but it’s of the same whip variant as the “Plasma Whip” from Up Your Arsenal. Still, considering the haphazard “Razor Claws” that make the player liable to take damage instead of dishing it out, perhaps attaching the weapon to a handle is the only way of making a melee weapon practical. Even the “Fusion Grenade” has the same icon as every other explosive weapon, which eases the player into the combat during the introductory stages of the game. Other than what seems like series requisites at this point, Tools of Destruction does display some genuine strokes of genius in the department of eradicating enemies. The ameboids that once squawked at Ratchet while trying to chomp him can now be used at his disposal with the “Plasma Beast,” planting the sentient boogers near enemies to then pop out and pulverize them with their gelatinous fury. Weaponizing a few of the Egyptian plagues takes place with the deadly bugs of the “Nano-Swarmers” and the “Tornado Launcher,” which localizes the blustery weather phenomena to wreak havoc in a smaller radius for a brief period. If all of this firepower isn’t enough, the “Alpha Disruptor” is a worthy substitute for the RYNO that will shred through enemy defenses once it's charged. Honestly, who needs the RYNO when this massively catastrophic cannon does the trick, and for no fees upon its discovery at that? To sweeten the deal, any weapon can be upgraded outside the standard level progression by applying enhancements to it via the allotment of raritanium, a recurring secondary currency that is implemented wonderfully here. Still, it makes me question why the level upgrade system is still in place, as designating which attributes to enhance in this more methodical fashion feels far more player choice-oriented and therefore more engaging.

To feasibly fit all of these deadly new doohickies into Ratchet’s pockets, Tools of Destruction implements THREE circular rings so the player can select one of these weapons at their convenience. One more ring than what I’m accustomed to sounds spacious enough, but an entire wheel may become entirely dedicated to a new idea that Insomniac conjured up. In the proximity of a weapons unit, another vendor will sell Ratchet “devices.” These auxiliary doodads are intended to supplement the primary weapons during the more hectic moments of combat. For example, the “Leech Bomb” will parasitically drain the lifeblood of enemies, giving the player a surplus of health in a pinch if needed. Similarly, Ratchet can also toss a disco ball called the “Groovitron” out on the field to distract every enemy in close range with the infectious lights and rhythms of the penultimate fad from the 1970s, dancing nonchalantly and leaving themselves vulnerable for Ratchet to decimate. While I enjoy the devices based on their utility, I have to wonder why each of them was consigned to a strict supporting role. Because the devices have to be used sparingly and cannot be upgraded through leveling or through Raritanium channeling, the player is barely given any incentive to use them. That, and I’m offended that the classic Morph-O-Ray had been done dirty with its demotion to a device here, turning enemies into robotic penguins with one fling like a flash grenade. If the developers saw how masterfully I transmogrified countless Protopets and thyranoids into cuddly farm animals over the course of the PS2 trilogy, they might have reconsidered relegating the weapon to something the player uses in a pinch. For the game’s sake, it’s fortunate enough that Tools of Destruction puts the player in plenty of drastic situations where the devices are useful, with many of its boss fights. I had to exhaust every Leech Bomb in my inventory because the Kerchu Mech kept smashing Ratchet below the arena’s rafters, and distracting the swabbies of pirate crew captain, Romulus Slag, with the iridescent disco ball was mandatory because his homing energy hooks were already enough to evade all at once. Still, when have the weapons in Ratchet & Clank ever been entirely situational? What reason do the developers have for not integrating these devices into the mix with the prime time weapons? They all take up a precious slot in Ratchet’s inventory wheel regardless!

Besides, Ratchet & Clank have always had non-offensive contraptions used circumstantially with the gadgets, which continue here as another facet of the series’ gameplay. Joining the series staple Swingshot are the Heli-Pods and Gelanator, which manually lift platforms that have an indicator on them and bounce Ratchet upward like a trampoline on a blocky piece of green Jell-O, respectively. I quite enjoy the general utility of the latter gadget mentioned, but I wish that the instances of using the gadget weren’t allocated to such super-specific sections where its utilization is made obvious. Other than the ones that were mentioned and some other requisite items like the Charge Boots and the Hydro-Pack, the remaining gadgets featured in Tools of Destruction can be grouped together by a certain gameplay gimmick that was not feasible in the original trilogy. Lest we forget that during the development of Tools of Destruction, Nintendo was reeling in so much money with the Nintendo Wii that it was borderline criminal. Unwilling to take their market domination sitting down while also not acting bold enough to alienate their avid gamer demographic by completely copying Nintendo’s homework, Sony still implemented minor motion control functionality with the PS3’s iteration of the Dualshock controller. Insomniac figured that the gadgets were used infrequently enough and therefore found a way to comfortably administer gaming’s then-latest kinetic trend sparingly enough without compromising on the meat of the gameplay. Still, despite how light their prevalence is in the overall experience, every instance of motion controls leaves a bad enough impression on the player to negatively resonate with them. The Robo-Wings were incredibly sensitive to any mid-air directional alteration, and if the segments using the Geo-Laser were used as a police sobriety test, they’d haul my ass to jail because every earthy extraction I formed with it was messy enough to make it look like I was shit faced. The developers thankfully give the option to use the analog stick while continuing an electrical current with a metallic ball in this game’s hacking minigame, but I discovered this instance of clemency only after I quit one of them in frustration. Dodging incoming missiles while falling into the battlefield from the skies, as Ratchet occasionally does, is also now dependent on how the player swerves the controller like a steering wheel. However, in this instance, the player also needs to use the analog stick like normal to direct Ratchet’s movement, so what the fuck was the point in applying motion controls to this segment at all? Let’s hope that the developers found as much fault with these little trendy tweaks to the gameplay formula as I did, but I have a feeling that they’ll persist with every PS3 entry in the series that follows and won’t be improved upon.

While Ratchet’s gameplay is being bogged down by an attempt to capitalize on the success of the console competition, I’m glad to report that the few moments where Clank is front and center have barely been changed. He doesn’t enlarge himself to the bodily proportions of a city-destroying Transformer in this game, but any section where he is roaming around at his standard, miniature size is quite loyal to how they were executed on the PS2. Ratchet’s backpack buddy will journey through tighter territory while being accompanied by a posse of even tinier robots who will attack enemies on Clank’s command. This time around, however, Clank’s little army holds relevance to the game’s narrative, surprisingly enough. Their small statures notwithstanding, the “Zoni” are a powerful race of interdimensional robotic creatures who can bend and manipulate the space-time continuum at will. Given that they’ve granted usage of their extraordinary ability to Clank and that they only make their presence known to him and him alone, they certainly recognize the tiny tin man as a worthy warrior fighting for the benefit of the galaxy.

Truthfully, this segway I’ve constructed was not rooted in how the developers wisely chose not to fix what wasn’t broken regarding Clank’s gameplay, but to extend my gripes on how Tools of Destruction continued to adulterate the elements of the franchise. Namely, in this case, how our heroes are now being propped up in the narrative as deific figures that are foretold to bring peace and balance to the cosmos, as told in an ancient prophecy. Clank’s awareness of the Zoni is just one factor of this narrative scope, but Ratchet’s role has been equally blown out of proportion. Other than taking umbrage with the fact that his species condemned his people to extinction, the reason why Tachyon is targeting Ratchet so fervently is because Ratchet is the last Lombax that remains living and breathing, and Ratchet’s role as the sole survivor is elevated even more when he says, on record, that he’s never known another being of his kind in his life. Need I remind Ratchet that crossing paths with Angela was a major narrative factor of his past adventures, and that he assumedly fornicated with said female lombax after the Protopet menace was conquered? Other than the developers’ glaring attempt to retcon a firmly established character in the series’ universe, do you realize what Ratchet has been positioned as with all of the context we’ve been given? That’s right, furry orange Jesus; the extolled, solitary savior of the space age. Considering the privilege of interacting with the Zoni, Clank has also been put on a pedestal as a metallic, mechanical Jesus. Believe me, I saw the birth of this robotic runt, and it was anything but divine. Still, I don’t mean to undermine my favorite character from this franchise because his and Ratchet’s modest pluckiness is what made them great protagonists. A recurring theme of the original trilogy is that despite saving the galaxy on three separate occasions, the duo never truly received their due credit as those to be commended and celebrated for their feats. The series consistently gave more veneration to superficial “heroes” like Captain Qwark through its lens of social commentary, furthering this thesis by deferring Clank to a household name status until he starred in the lead role of a television series as a fictional hero. Their heroism always spoke for itself, and when it's hoisted to the heights of biblical destiny, their charm as passionate do-gooders is completely ousted. Even Talwyn Apogee, Ratchet’s new female ally, starts overtly flirting with the lombax immediately upon meeting him. Ratchet is supposed to earn your arousal, dammit!

While Ratchet & Clank Future: Tools of Destruction feels like the triumphant leap into a newer and bolder future for the franchise, especially from my perspective, I can plainly see that it’s a product from the past era of gaming, from when it was released. The high-definition visuals are breathtaking, even for those who are not accustomed to seeing the space cat and toaster combo with CRTV haziness, but they are not enough to distract from all the eye-rolling practices it commits to that were common during this time. Not even my beloved Ratchet & Clank was immune to dabbling in poorly executed motion controls, and ennobling the once-cartoony satirical series to the overblown realm of a space epic like Star Wars leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Ratchet & Clank was the one series whose original developers did not defect and sell off, but the ways in which Tools of Destruction profoundly misunderstands the strengths of the franchise make it seem like it was created by a new team from another company. Still, I enjoyed all of the elements that were maintained from the PS2 games that were extended efficiently here, so the “future” doesn’t seem entirely dim and grim. However, a future that makes me yearn for the past isn’t exactly radiant either.

Mario Kart DS Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/12/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Mario Kart DS

Developer: Nintendo

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Kart Racer

Platforms: DS

Release Date: November 14, 2005

It seemed like Mario Kart on a mobile gaming device was a death sentence. Okay, perhaps that’s a tad dramatic, but Super Circuit did nothing but affirm my stance that the plumber’s popular racing series could not function without the proper polygons generating the experience. Mario Kart: Double Dash!! served as empirical proof that the franchise excels when it’s bigger and bolder, and the only way it could’ve veered towards this necessary evolution is by building off of Mario Kart 64’s 3D template instead of regressing back to the vestigial pixels akin to the SNES. Super Circuit may have put Mario Kart 64’s flaws into consideration and produced some genuine quality-of-life enhancements, but it was all for naught due to the fundamental flaw of the pixelated plane at play. The novelty of a Mario Kart title played elsewhere, but the home might supersede the limited connotations; however, we arguably hadn’t had a proper Mario Kart game up to this point that truly perfected the kart racing formula. As much as I love Double Dash and believe it to be a more well-oiled Mario Kart experience than Mario Kart 64 by a stark mile, I can’t honestly call a game with simultaneous racers where items rain down like arrows on a battlefield to be balanced and indicative of the typical Mario Kart title. It seemed like the series was regressing once again, making us fret over the quality of Mario Kart DS…

…And here is where I pull the wool over everyone’s eyes and reveal the actual direction of this review that reneges on what I had been alluding to up to this point. Yes, Mario Kart DS is obviously a mobile entry in the franchise, but I don’t believe I claimed that it shared the quasi-2D graphical plane as Super Circuit. While its touchpad is the feature most associated with the DS, the two-screened system was also the first mobile Nintendo console to sufficiently render 3D polygons, if the remake of Super Mario 64 as a launch title wasn’t any indication of this marvelous feat in technology. The visuals here are slightly more polished than those on Nintendo’s first 3D system, but they certainly still evoke the rough-hewn blockiness that aged about as well as cheese baked by a desert sun. Truly, all that matters is that the rough-hewn form of 3D presented here will still facilitate a functional Mario Kart experience. Because the more nuanced dimensional plane should allow Mario Kart DS to inherently thrive, there were very few technological limitations that this title had to adhere to, like its other mobile predecessors. As a result, Mario Kart DS is the title that finally reaches the satisfactory point of balance and well-roundedness that the series desperately needed to reach.

As per the balancing process, much to my dismay, Mario Kart DS has to subtract the number of racers per kart to fit the single seater once again. The manic fun is over, boys, and now it’s back to tradition. However, just because Mario Kart has reverted to its old ways doesn’t mean it’s now strictly business. The by-the-numbers carts the characters were restricted to in the older Mario Kart titles have been officially scrapped, wisely taking the hint from Double Dash that variety and personalization were far niftier than a change of color palette. Mario and Peach’s default karts are long-necked ones that have a more orthodox design, but other characters’ karts are downright kooky in their own distinct ways. Rambi was always somewhat of a vehicle for Donkey Kong, so crafting a kart in the image of the rampaging rhinoceros is certainly fitting for the tie-wearing ape. Luigi never rode the Poltergust in Luigi’s Mansion for obvious reasons, but I suppose it could have acceleration properties that translate to a motorized vehicle if you invert the suck function to blow. Yoshi drives around the interior of one of his eggs, Bowser is situated in a kart resembling one of his claws, dubbed “Tyrant,” and Wario proudly flaunts a sleazy, low-rider convertible. The developers kind of fumbled in the creativity department, giving Toad a wheeled mushroom head to race with, but it is admittedly a signifier of Toad’s identity and has more personality than the painted go-karts from Mario Kart 64. In addition to exhibiting more personality than Mario Kart 64’s rainbow coalition of bog-standard karts, the personalized karts don’t obscure their stat ranges. Speed, acceleration, weight, handling, and drift are vital factors to consider when choosing a kart, but the “items” stat escapes me. Does it indicate the likelihood of receiving a rare item from a box, or will there be more item boxes scattered around the track to drive into? Either way, I hadn’t noticed any difference between the item selection per kart, so it's ultimately irrelevant.

A series of new karts will also be rewarded to the player after completing a whole set of cups per difficulty. Unlockables like these were a glaring omission before Double Dash promptly implemented them, and now they persist as an indelible requisite for the series. Personally, new karts are certainly nothing to sneeze at, but the prospect of expanding the game’s roster with unlockables is why I continue onward towards the completionist route. Daisy and Waluigi return as series veterans, and Wario’s usual partner in crime comically rides around on an excavator swapped from a construction site. Even if there isn't a solid connection between the purple one and this field of blue-collar jobs, seeing him tear through the tracks in this heavy-duty piece of equipment is quite comical. Dry Bones is technically a new face to the franchise if we discount the fact that he could be the reanimated skeleton of the Koopa foot soldier from the first Mario Kart game. Still, the tank and the customized bone kart he pilots make him all the more distinctive from his flesh-and-blood counterparts. Rounding out the roster is quite an unusual pick, to say the least. I have no idea if Mario and R.O.B. the Robot, Nintendo’s goofiest-looking NES peripheral, have ever crossed paths before this, so he sticks out like the sorest of thumbs amongst the collective of the Mushroom Kingdom’s finest. Did he rig some kind of nomination process like Harry putting his name in the Goblet of Fire? Anyway, despite the questionable relation to Mario’s extended universe, reviving a Nintendo relic as Smash Bros. did for Mr. Game and Watch makes for an intriguing inclusion. Hell, his exclusivity propels him as being my choice character in the game, even if I have the play hours of it to gain access to him.

Despite dialing the kart space down to its former solo seating, racing itself shares more in common with that of Double Dash than Mario Kart 64. Mostly, it’s the smooth and swift drifting mechanics introduced in Double Dash that carry over to the more compact karts. When drifting to swerve around some tight bends or to potentially execute a manual boost, the racers continue to only tilt themselves slightly in the desired direction instead of debilitating themselves with a horizontal slip and slide. In fact, the drift function in Mario Kart DS is so user-friendly that expert players have honed a skill known as “snaking,” relating to the natural movement pattern of a slithering serpent. In essence, with great precision and skill, the player could potentially run a streak of boosts without having to stop and accelerate normally. How Mario Kart DS facilitates this endless chain of turbo charges is likely due to the hop mechanic returning for the single-seater karts, something that the karts of Double Dash couldn’t do on account of carrying the weight of two characters at once. Arguments may arise that this tactic breaks the accessible sanctity that Mario Kart should ideally foster, but my rebuttal to this is that promoting a high skill ceiling is also a core component to ensure that the player can reach their maximum aptitude. Some people simply seethe at someone sprinting past them with little recourse they can take to combat them.

Then again, they can try to stop all “snakers” in their tracks with the bounty of items at their disposal, and some are guaranteed to at least hit them and halt their momentum momentarily. On top of the lightning that minimizes all but the summoner, the blue shell maintains its reputation as an inescapable spirit breaker. It even twirls merrily before it swan dives into its victims as if it's taunting them now. Some special items, such as Wario/Waluigi’s Bomb-omb buddies, have been translated to common items, and the single kart status has reverted the series back to the practices of shielding racers with three green shells and a trail of bananas. Mario Kart DS introduces a paltry two new items, but they’ll leave a lasting impression on most players, for better or for worse. The Bullet Bill is essentially the successor to the Chain Chomp from Double Dash in that a tar-black Mario enemy propels racers who are dragging ass at least a couple placements ahead at breakneck, aggressive speeds. In this case, the trajectory of the Bullet Bill feels more structured and automated than the wild whiplash of the Chain Chomp, guaranteeing that the landing will be smoother than the average commercial airline flight. Still, considering that I was usually a victim of the Bullet Bill’s blitzkrieg instead of a grateful user, I don’t know if this is a good thing. The other new item weaponizes the Blooper, an aquatic creature that spurts ink onto the player’s screen as per his innate squid-like properties. Instead of targeting the nearest player with this unfried piece of calamari, unleashing it will affect every racer like the strike of a lightning bolt. The fundamental problem with this lies in the fact that CPUs obviously aren’t handicapped by the screen being moderately obscured like the player. As a token of fairness, the CPUs will drive erratically for a brief period like clowns, but it comes off as condescending if anything. Thanks for the consideration, guys.

In order to perfect the art of snaking, the player must also become familiar with the terrain of each track. Fortunately for them, the course selection in Mario Kart DS is as rock-solid as a chunk of fallen meteor. If I noticed one prevalent theme in the selection of Mario Kart DS, the series now has a penchant for transmuting familiar levels from the mainline games into race tracks. The air fortresses that served as obstacle courses before confronting one of Bowser’s illegitimates is equally as thrilling and tense, modeled as a race course, although the barrage of cannonballs and steel wrenches has been substituted with a reasonable flow of Bullet Bills launching towards the starting line. I don’t recall seeing any part of Isle Delfino with Venetian architecture, nor was I aware that the land of Piantas was in a temperate enough climate to produce autumnal foliage. Still, taking sharp turns around these Euro-esque buildings and gazing at the picturesque setting of this vacation destination is nothing short of awe-inspiring. Luigi’s Mansion takes us on another tour of the spooky estate’s gothic interior and the muddy moat surrounding it, Desert Hill’s takes inspiration from the second main world of Super Mario Bros. 3 if the scornful sun in the background is any indication, and the pendulums and gears of Tick Tock Clock are surprisingly more manageable to navigate around while skidding rather than platforming. Peach’s Gardens could be an expanded version of the courtyard section of Super Mario 64’s hub, but this is all up to speculation. The centerpiece feature added to shuffle the continual Bowser’s Castle track is a giant cylinder that spins rapidly, and the climactic course of Rainbow Road is the first course to feature anti-gravity in its rollercoaster loops. Everyone reading up to this point may feel agitated that I haven’t mentioned one track in particular, and that’s Waluigi Pinball. I considered dedicating an entire paragraph to what is considered to be this game’s, no, the SERIES’ crown jewel, but decided that would be obnoxious. That, and I haven’t fallen head over heels for it like everyone else. Sure, an active pinball table is an exhilarating foreground to screech one’s tires onto, the rolling balls inside the machine are sensible obstacles that prove to be quite challenging to navigate around, and the overall atmosphere and aesthetic evoke the scintillating extravagance of a night life casino setting better than Sega could ever dream of. Still, something is holding me back from joining the echoes that praise this track to the high heavens. Don’t let the hype cloud your first impressions, I suppose.

If you’re unsatisfied with this game’s course contribution, and it’s unlikely that you will be, Mario Kart DS marks the debut of doubling the amount of grand-prixs with a slew of retro tracks from previous games. Admittedly, Super Circuit technically turned back the clock first when it featured every single track from the first Mario Kart. Still, those were copied and pasted from their source with a graphical rehaul. Here, the stages are hand-selected and treated to a 3D overhaul complete with the game’s own reinterpretations. It’s a novel concept, certainly, and it’s no wonder this practice has become a Mario Kart tradition as commonly celebrated as Christmas for every subsequent entry. In practice, it unfortunately provides evidence that Mario Kart DS still harbored restrictions despite its third-dimensional glory. The reason I think the retro courses were selected in this manner is that the developers had to seriously consider which ones could be feasibly replicated on a handheld system. Hence, there is an abundance of 2D tracks from Super Mario Kart and Super Circuit, and several circuit courses from the previous 3D games that tend to be rather featureless. From my perspective, the 3D touch makes all of the 2D courses more than palatable now, and I can finally appreciate the tracks from Mario Kart 64 because the other racers are no longer guaranteed to be breathing down my neck at all times like we’re the members of a chain gang. However, it’s the integration of courses from Double Dash where the cracks start to show. Yoshi’s Circuit no longer features shortcuts that the player can take advantage of; the titular bridge of Mushroom Bridge does not have the boosting stripes on its arches, and the laps of Baby Park have been subtracted from eight to five. Without the onslaught of items from Double Dash to begin with, the developers evidently didn’t understand the context behind this racer’s mosh pit of mayhem. The series should’ve waited for the next console entry of the series to get nostalgic, as the neutered and or uninspired selections made through compromise really put a damper on what is already a dynamite track roster.

If the retro courses do not meet one’s satisfaction in extending their time playing Mario Kart DS, one distinct gameplay mode will certainly preserve their interests. I’ve neglected to mention the “battle mode” that debuted in Mario Kart 64 because this more combative, gladiatorial alternative to the standard racing is purely enjoyed by those who have other people in their vicinity to man the other controllers. In addition to blowing into the battle mode balloons with the console’s microphone jack, Mario Kart DS also introduces something tailor-made for my lonely ass: mission mode. In this strictly solo mode, the player will complete various tasks that take place on the courses, which may or may not involve racing. The player might have to drive through a series of tires, collect a string of coins, drive to the finish line entirely in reverse gear, etc. These tasks may seem menial, but I’m certain that the ranking system employed here will impress on everyone’s obsessive-compulsive tendencies. After all, shouldn’t everyone want to witness what fighting the bosses from Super Mario 64 (and King Boo) is like while they’re confined to a kart? You should, because the prospect itself and the fact that it's a functional endeavor are nothing short of marvelous. As of now, this mode is endemic to Mario Kart DS, giving gamers more reason to revisit this title even as the series moves onward. It would be a hard sell to make a secondary Mario Kart game composed with this mode as the primary feature, but considering how I became enthralled with it, I’d make it rain on Nintendo for the opportunity to experience such a release.

Mario Kart DS initially instilled a feeling of going back to the old grind after the wild party that was Double Dash. However, it’s like returning to work and seeing that the office building has gone through a makeover, establishing an ergonomic method of labor that increases morale forevermore. What I’m trying to illustrate is that Mario Kart DS is when the series finally hit its stride, the pinnacle of the franchise achieved after iterations upon iterations of tweaking the formula and seeing what would work. The innate racing is smooth with great capabilities, the (original) track selection cannot be topped, and mission mode even flaunts the fact that the game has discovered a way to break out of the boundaries of what constitutes kart racing gameplay. If you had told me that Mario Kart had hit the desired sweet spot with a mobile entry of all things, I would’ve shaken my head in disbelief. Now, it proves to me that the DS was no system to meddle with. If one had to pick a representative face for the franchise, Mario Kart DS would maintain that position like Abraham Lincoln on a penny.

Kirby and the Forgotten World Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/6/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Kirby and the Forgotten Land

Developer: HAL Laboratory

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: Switch

Release Date: March 25, 2022

Kirby and the Forgotten Land may have been released on the Nintendo Switch in 2022 when I was the age of 26. However, I’ve been waiting for this game since 2004 when I was but a wee lad of eight years. I’m sure the majority of you haven’t the faintest idea what I’m about to delve into, but a proper 3D Kirby game that escaped beyond the bounds of the two-dimensional confines that Kirby 64 abided by, despite its polygonal presentation, was slated to be released on the Gamecube. Lamentably, as history tells it, this title never saw the light of day, and we were instead treated to the streamlined racing experience that was Kirby Air Ride. The free range of that game’s City Trial mode was not substantial enough of a proper debut for Kirby in the third dimension, but countless Kirby titles were released afterwards without even humoring the notion of rendering Kirby with a wider spatial plane. That is, until two decades later, when HAL Laboratories finally decided to take an honest crack at crafting a 3D Kirby game with Kirby and the Forgotten Land. Given what we know of Kirby’s innate ability to float endlessly like he’s bogarting all of the world’s helium, we can’t be surprised that his developing team had their reservations regarding propelling him to the third dimension for so long. Therefore, Kirby and the Forgotten Land had to prove that increasing the titular pink blob’s range of movement could be feasible without inadvertently making the experience totally effortless. Not only does Forgotten Land make us wonder why the prospect of a bona fide 3D Kirby game gave Nintendo cold feet, but it truly does exemplify every single positive quality that one could associate with the franchise.

For some reason, I expected Kirby and the Forgotten Land to be the pink puffball’s answer to Super Mario Odyssey. This assumption could’ve been because they are both Switch releases from two platforming series with legacy statuses in the echelons of Nintendo, or because Mario’s most recent (still, as of writing this) 3D escapade brought the non-linear collectathon format that Super Mario 64 pioneered to its pinnacle point and expected every other game in the genre to follow suit. While The Forgotten Land barely resembles Mario’s romantic voyage across the continents in his quaint, steam-powered flying vessel, a similarity that Forgotten Land shares to a radically dissimilar game from a whole other realm of the medium is so striking that I’ve become accustomed to nicknaming this game “Kirby: Automata” without any irony involved. I cannot definitively confirm whether or not the popular science fiction hack-and-slash sequel from PlatinumGames was a conceptual inspiration on this Kirby outing, nor can I fully comprehend such a wide sphere of influence on the whole. Still, when I glance at the aesthetic that encompasses the game’s general setting, the comparisons are clear as a sunny day in Honolulu.

The “forgotten land” that the lofty title is alluding to certainly isn’t Kirby’s candy-coated homeworld of Planet Popstar. An interdimensional vortex pulls Kirby into its seismic grasp, and don’t tell me that the world seen on the other side doesn’t evoke memories of Nier: Automata’s fractured urban landscape. Sure, the herbage enveloping the "forgotten land” is far more invitingly lush than the stranded Earth seen in Nier: Automata, but I know for a fact that tall buildings don’t grow vines along its sides for decoration. The “Natural Plains” area that introduces this strange new land to Kirby extends the defeated tone of urban decay to a crumbling highway called “Rock Rollin’ Road” to an abandoned shopping mall, which has become the epitome of a societal graveyard in recent years. Subsequent worlds may have a distinctive elemental theme as par for the platformer course, but they all integrate the same corroded urban setpieces into the foreground. The billowing snow of “Winter Horns” isn’t thick enough to cover the emptiness of the vaguely London-esque urban architecture, “Wondaria Remains” is an abandoned amusement park if that wasn’t indicated by its title, and the intended joy of a beach world is dampened by the offshore industrial plants that comprise the foregrounds of “Everbay Coast.” The hellfire of “Redgar Forbidden Lands” is especially depressing because the destroyed city in the midst of it harkens back to Crisis City from Sonic 06, yet doesn’t instill the suffering implications of that forsaken level like the Christian underworld connotes. Even the more inviting setting of the arid “Originull Wasteland” retains the overarching theme with its ancient ruins and dingy mine shafts. Yes, the realistic and dismal levels in Forgotten Land do indeed conflict with Kirby’s cherubic character and the whimsical innocence of his normal stomping (or floating, I should say) grounds. Still, the cohesiveness of these settings leads me to believe that this stark contrast was the initiative of the developers. As a result, Kirby truly is a stranger in a strange land, and we’re equally as curious as he assumedly is.

A source of familiarity in this uncharted wasteland sparks up regarding the game’s consistent objective. Kirby may not have ever adopted the Super Mario 64 definition of a collectathon like several other 3D platformers, but acquiring a selection of special items has always been a component of the series’ gameplay. In this case, it’s the hundreds of Waddle Dees that have been captured by a gang of furry creatures called “The Beast Pack,” who cannot be seen as intimidatingly hostile when they are this adorably floofy. Wait a minute: I seem to recall Kirby slaughtering any Waddle Dee that came across his path in several different iterations of his days on Pop Star, and now he’s their Oskar Schindler? Does traveling to another world via a portal give the perpetrator the same legal sanction as hopping the border to Mexico? Anyway, regardless of Kirby’s felonious past with the Popstar commoners, he’s the only one fit to be their savior in this dire predicament. Rescuing the Waddle Dees from their cages is essentially the same process as procuring the crystal shards in Kirby 64, or the cubes from Planet Robobot. There are three to five of them located off the beaten path of the trek to the finish line, which all involve a modicum of exploration and attentiveness to one's surroundings. Still, if the player proves to be less than vigilant, simply reaching the end of a level will reward them with a trio of the chubby-cheeked guys for their troubles. Because the collection process mirrors two instances of it in a couple of traditionally 2D Kirby titles, we can assume that Kirby’s newfound parameters still stick to the straightaway course from A to B. While this may seem like a waste of potential, the extent of exploration the game fosters greatly distracts from the technically confined linearity at play. Not only can Waddle Dees be achieved via entertaining the branching paths, but the game features many other collectathon conditions all around. Waddles Dees can be rewarded when Kirby dismantles crudely-drawn wanted posters of himself, eating a chain of edibles from a shared food group, busting up snowmen, etc. Because anything in a level could conceivably be attached to the main collectible, it motivates the player to scrounge about the level’s entirety more meticulously than ever before, which in turn will ideally result in a richer platforming experience.

One may ask what the point of the explorative process would be if the game feels charitable enough to give away a few Waddle Dees, almost like a participation trophy. The immediate answer is that a substantial amount of them is needed to demolish the barrier surrounding a level’s final boss. Alternatively, the mass of Waddle Dees takes refuge in the game’s hub, which is located at the southern tip of the world map. This podunk town has already been colonized by Waddle Dees upon Kirby’s initial arrival, a productive turn-around for a negative situation if anything. Still, one factor of persuading the player to go the distance to free them from captivity is that their community will grow exponentially as they erect various establishments with every numerical milestone. The Waddle Dees will set up shops, a movie theater, cafes/restaurants, a park, etc., in their impromptu home away from home. The latter two notable places mentioned also feature minigames where Kirby serves up grub and fishes, respectively, classically deviating from the platforming gameplay just as the earlier series entries were known to do. The Waddle Dees have even constructed a little cottage for Kirby here so the little guy can rest his weary bones (does Kirby even have bones?). I appreciate their gratitude, but considering the work that Kirby’s doing to save their species, I don’t think tacking on new features to Kirby’s domicile with every increment is an impudent ask from them. Perhaps a jacuzzi or a man cave with a pool table and flat-screen HDTV? Still, I’m satisfied with how Waddle Dee Town expands outside of Kirby’s crib, and seeing the tangibility of my efforts incentivizes me to continue a more thorough tread through the levels.

Mainly, I habitually revisit the Waddle Dee hub because it houses a mechanic/tailor who specializes in Kirby’s hats, which obviously correspond with his special abilities. After playing a smorgasbord of Kirby’s outings at this point, I’ve learned that the amount of elemental abilities Kirby copies from consuming various enemies should be kept to a fair minimum for the sake of brevity, lest a few duds are left on the table like in Kirby’s Dream Land 3. Fortunately, the range of offensive augmentations presented here is a modest twelve, with the digging “drill” and projectile “ranger” making their debuts. While the selection here is all killer with no filler to be found, Forgotten Land also recognizes that the copy abilities make a more significant impact when they are innovated on, with the combining of two in Kirby 64 and absorbing them into the schematics of the mech in Planet Robobot as prime examples. Forgotten Land’s contribution to tweaking Kirby’s greatest idiosyncrasy is evolving the offensive traits of the copy abilities like Pokemon. Once Kirby finds the scroll with the design scheme of the upgrade (another reason to search each level like a cunning detective, I might add) and can fund this addition with enough of the game’s currencies, the enhanced ability that the Waddle Dee gets to work on will replace its inferior version from that point onward. The firepower of the “ranger” ability increases from a pop gun to a deadly laser blaster, “needle’s” upgrade references the clutter of miscellaneous sharp objects from Kirby 64, “bomb” will gain heat-seaking homing properties to explode directly in every enemy’s face, and defeating Meta Knight in an optional colosseum battle will have him forfeit his mysterious mask and trusty Galaxia as the final addition to the sword ability. It’s the only feasible way to incorporate Kirby’s rival in this game while he’s travelling abroad. Improving the classic gag ability of “sleep” by giving Kirby a full-sized mobile bed to rest in seems like a joke in and of itself, but giving Kirby a power nap comes with the added perks of boosted attack, speed, or defense for a short period. I may question what warrants these abilities to be enhanced when the game is consistently easy as a pedantic nitpick, but the curiosity that arises with how each ability will be modified and the spectacle of their amplifications always drew me back to spending my hard-earned money at the hub.

Speaking of well-earned finances, Forgotten Land features a secondary currency to the star coins in the “rare stones.” These coarse, radiant star formations can only be obtained by completing the “treasure roads,” that pop up on the map after finishing the mainline levels. Each of these obstacle courses often involves the singular use of a particular copy ability, so substantial familiarity with a specific one’s properties is key to surviving to the end. In addition, every single challenge is timed, so Kirby cannot briskly float to the goal as he would for levels outside the course. Come to think of it, the segmented platforming mixed with the strain of the time limit was a rare instance of agitation I had experienced while playing a Kirby game. Not only was the promise of obtaining the third ingredient to upgrading the copy abilities straying me away from progression, but these sublevels scratched a certain difficulty itch that Kirby games often are too short to reach, or so to speak. When Kirby games offer an added layer of challenge outside the standard track, I’ll gladly dash towards it.

“Treasure Roads” and the major levels on the whole also tend to incorporate another new way to utilize Kirby’s extraordinary orifice, and it's the gameplay portion of Forgotten Land that actually affirms my initial connection to Super Mario Odyssey. In Mario’s soaring adventure on the Switch, the major hook that captured our attention was the prospect that Mario could transform into anything with the swing of his supernatural cap, provided the target was a sentient being with functioning brain capacity. While Mario covers the diverse range of organic creatures to control, Kirby, conversely, dominates the realm of inanimate objects. In certain instances on the field, Kirby will wrap his gaping mouth around a piece of substantially-sized detritus, which will warp his appearance to fit the shape of the object, as if it were covered in a big, pink tarp with eyes. Kirby’s manipulation of the object will also result in using its mechanical utility for what is essentially the same function as a copy ability. Swallowing an O-shaped letter fallen from a formally neon sign will create a giant fan that can emit violent wind gusts used to blow away groups of enemies or steer the voyage of a small wooden boat along the water. Kirby can perform an earth-shattering dive move by plunging himself downward using an oversized traffic cone, and unscrewing the tops of capsules and water towers is a cinch after he picks the bolts with his teeth. Should it be any surprise that Kirby can inflate himself by gulping down gallons of water like SpongeBob and spurt out the mass of accumulated liquid with the drowning force of a firehose? Possessing a car and any arc-shaped object is reserved for segments all to themselves. Kirby will reanimate a sedan’s engine with a complete tank of gasoline to boot and turbo drive himself over an elongated course fit for such a vehicle, while the arc involves Kirby gliding through the air with the grace of an albatross in ring challenges, despite the hefty metallic weight of the objects. Even though Kirby may look foolish and or demented walking around with these pieces of construction lodged in his gullet, borrowing their physical properties and exploiting them for traversal is a perfect way to extend the utility of Kirby’s innate abilities without bloating the array of elements he can copy. Actually, I’m amazed that this feature didn’t cross the minds of the developers until now, but maybe it was going to make its debut in a previous title, and Kirby kept ingesting the large constructs out of habit.

However, by series tradition, only the copy abilities can aid Kirby during the boss encounters. Series staple bosses like Bonkers and Mr. Frosty interrupt Kirby’s progression on the field and drop their respective elements upon their defeat, but the more pressing fights in the game are the area-ending ones against the executive members of The Beast Pack. They’re still a group of animals like the common enemies, although they are not as cuddly on account of their burlier sizes and more ferocious demeanors. I’ll tell you one thing: the departure of 2D into the more advanced polygonal plane makes the bosses of a Kirby game far more formidable from a purely surface-level perspective. I can almost feel Kirby shiver while under the shadow of the colossal gorilla Gorimondo, and I never noticed how mesomorphic King Dedede was until he thrusted his whole body towards me like an oncoming bus. I’ve seen Whispy donning the cybernetic steel of a futuristic killer before, but seeing him as a giant palm tree with a soul patch is truly the stuff of nightmares. One might scoff at these bosses' attempts to intimidate them and state that the copy abilities will carry them through the scuffle, but these assumptions might lead to their demise. A few of these bosses can be particularly swift and overwhelming with their attacks, namely Clawroline with her cat-like reflexes and Sillydillo rolling towards the player like a giant boulder falling from an avalanche. Because the Beast Pack can be surprisingly brutal for a coalition of Kirby bosses, the game even implements a dodge roll maneuver so Kirby can evade some of the swifter barrages. And here I thought that Kirby was the antithesis of Dark Souls and they’d never see eye to eye. Really, what the integration of the quick evasive move indicates is that the developers have made a conscious effort for these bouts to hold the climactic weight that their situations in the story might suggest. All in all, The Beast Pack had me on edge more than any of the particularly confrontational foes residing in Dream Land.

Because of the overall increased tenacity of Forgotten Land’s boss cavalcade, I almost fretted at what the game’s final boss would have in store for me. Then again, I was confident that the game’s true final duel would be locked unless the player was persistent enough to satisfy the completionist route because that was the stipulation that withheld O2 in Kirby 64 and Dark Matter in the Dream Land games. Forgotten Land does indeed feature content that requires extra involvement from the player, and that’s the second fight against Beast Pack leader Leongar and the NG+ section leading up to it that increases the difficulty of familiar territory and bosses with an ethereal touch like the “Hidden Dreams” DLC of Hollow Knight. However, I’d argue that the standard, incomplete path provides a substantial enough conclusion to Forgotten Land’s narrative as is. After slapping some sense into King Dedede for the umpteenth time, Kirby uncovers the impetus for abducting all of the Waddle Dees in the “Lab Discovera.” They’ve been conducting slave work to power what is perceived to be the “ultimate life form,” which is a malformed pink alien instead of a black hedgehog (sorry, not sorry, Shadow). Once Kirby defeats Leongar, who is trying to protect the alleged almighty being, it breaks its glassy confinement and absorbs every lifeform to create a blob of matter as abominable as Akira. It reminds us that the Kirby series holds traces of uncharacteristic cosmic horror that seem to only bubble up in the climax sections. One particular character that the Lovecraftian beast devours is Kirby’s Elfilin buddy, who I haven’t bothered to mention until now because it's nothing but a tutorial fairy that soon becomes a MacGuffin. When this innocuous furry bat fuses with this volatile creature, it results in the form of an archangel with immense power, whose attempts to collide Popstar with this planet are thwarted when Kirby wraps himself in a mach truck and launches himself into it like a revolver bullet. Who would give a speck of a shit about the completionist bonus when THIS is what happens with their halved-assery? Seeing a Kirby game conclude as bombastically as an average episode of anime is a sight to behold and all, but it should never outshine the outcome of the true ending.

Like clockwork, here’s the concluding paragraph where I gripe about how this Kirby game barely made me sweat like all of the big boy games I’m accustomed to. That is, it would be the crux of my critique if Forgotten Land met my expectations of the average Kirby fare. Truthfully, placing Kirby in 3D and limiting his flight capacity doesn’t inherently make for something that causes me to grit my teeth down to the pulp, but I’ve started to focus more on the series' other attributes that make it a delight rather than an underwhelming slog. Specifically, how Forgotten Land innovates on seemingly every aspect of Kirby’s setting and gameplay that is completely distinctive from every one of its predecessors. That, and I greatly appreciate that the game offers an auxiliary challenge in the “treasure roads” and a select few boss battles to quench the thirst of a seasoned gamer such as I. Changing the perspective to a polygonal plane withstanding, Kirby and the Forgotten Land is resolutely Kirby like any of the 2D games before it, with enough revolutions in its gameplay to make it exemplary even if it was rendered in 2D. It makes me wonder why Nintendo was hesitant for Kirby to make the official leap into 3D for so long, but I suppose it's better late than never.

Ristar Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 7/27/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Ristar

Developer: Sega/Sonic Team

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: Genesis/Mega Drive

Release Date: February 16, 1995

Poor, poor Ristar never stood a chance. Given Sega’s history of undermining their other properties that aren’t that goddamned blue hedgehog, I’d equate the Sega Genesis to a group foster home, where Sonic is the only child that is blood related to the establishment’s proprietors. This means that Sonic gets more food at dinner time, receives his own private bedroom, and heaven forbid if someone blames him for clogging the toilet or breaking the precious vase that was placed on the table. Naturally, spoiling one child while neglecting all of the others results in the untouchables withering away while the sole exception grows up to be an immature egomaniac. Really, Sega should’ve taken a few notes from Nintendo and established some checks and balances between their properties, for Sonic has been nothing but an embarrassment for decades now. And how could things have possibly turned out any differently with how Sega put the blue blur on an unrivaled pedestal? Only the real OGs remember the other exclusives on the Sega Genesis, and Ristar is one of the more notable names that were eclipsed under a spikey-haired shadow. Ristar is certainly a standout experience on Sega’s second console, but is it exemplary enough to argue that it should’ve stolen attention away from Sega’s precious blue blur?

I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that Sega had Kirby in mind when designing Ristar. Mostly, it’s the shared stumpy, vaguely orbital physicality between the two that drives this conclusion, as Ristar could also be formed by a simple drawing tutorial with fewer than five steps. Actually, Ristar resembles exactly what Kirby would probably look like if Sega had conjured up Nintendo’s pink extraterrestrial blob. Ristar is a black sphere at his base, but his most striking feature is the golden star with all of his facial features, which is attached to his body sort of inorganically, like a mask. Unlike Kirby, Ristar’s anatomical appendages, like his arms and legs, are far more pronounced. He’s got tennis shoes on one set and cartoon gloves on the other like Sonic, possibly for agile mobility and to make rude gestures or “hip” gang signs, respectively. In a vacuum, Ristar has plenty of charm and appeal to compete in the ranks of platformer mascots congesting the greater gaming landscape of the 1990s. However, the uncanny fusion between two characters that have already been cemented into the gaming canon sort of sullies his overall distinctiveness. Still, the pixelated polish that came with debuting at the end of the Genesis’ console tenure makes Ristar especially winsome with his clear facial expressions.

While vaguely resembling the lovechild of two gaming icons, Ristar’s mechanics aren’t at all reminiscent of either of his lookalikes. For being a curious cosmic creature, Ristar is quite grounded. His gameplay conceit isn’t centered around precariously blazing through levels, nor is it floating endlessly from door to door to his destination. Ristar’s claim to fame (if he had been given his flowers properly in the first place) is his elastic arms, which he uses for a myriad of different situations he might come across. In terms of traversal, Ristar swings from vertical beams like Tarzan swings on vines in the jungle, while also grabbing onto support ledges protruding off the sides of walls from underneath them. Ristar’s climbing aptitude also extends to scaling walls that do not have these ladder step contraptions attached, but executing this move feels like breaking the intended matrix of the game, like Samus’ wall jump in Super Metroid. Oftentimes, a horizontal pole suspended in midair can be swung on in a circular motion, and releasing Ristar from this will catapult him in an erratic trajectory with an invincibility frame attached, like the charge move from fellow squandered Genesis title, Rocket Knight Adventures. Ristar’s grabbing capabilities also factor into the game’s combat, as he’ll wrap an enemy into his ropey arms and send them ricocheting in all directions with an effective kick (I think it’s a kick?). Am I the only one who thinks Ristar’s method of defending himself looks a tad suggestive? Maybe Gropey McGee here didn’t rocket off to gaming stardom because he got too handsy with someone he shouldn’t have and consequently got his career cut prematurely. Anyway, embracing the enemy from a distance to then launch them all around the arena like firing a gun in a rubber room is quite unorthodox. Thankfully, Ristar is slower-paced, so taking the time to aim his arms at an enemy doesn’t conflict with the pace of their opposition. Because the pauses Ristar takes during combat don’t inadvertently harm him, all of his design quirks are quite complementary to the overall gameplay.

Ristar is also an interplanetary traveler like Nintendo’s walking wad of space gum, but the tone veers more towards traditional science fiction instead of wandering around a galaxy composed of planets far too steeped in the realm of fantasy to be feasible. Ristar’s non-food-oriented universe is in crisis due to a nasty imperial warlord named Kaiser Greedy (a bit on the nose, eh?), who is using his supernatural ability of hypnosis to brainwash each planet’s leaders and take control of their sovereign lands. Ristar’s heroic itinerary takes him to six distinct planets that more or less represent the standard level tropes seen across countless platformers before and after it. Planet Flora eases us into the game with an inoffensive grassland level, as a Mario title usually does. Planet Undertow is a self-explanatory water level just by its name alone, and then that second level is followed by Planet Scorch. You’ll never be able to guess which contrasting element to the previous planet that this one prominently exhibits. While my highlighting of the various level themes may suggest that they are rife with cliches, it’s the minor mechanics inside of them that give each level some character. For example, Ristar must time his swimming to the artificial current created by the turbines in Planet Undertow if he doesn’t want to get violently blown into a series of spiny urchins. Planet Scorch features buckets and pulleys that Ristar can reel up to avoid touching the flames on the ground below him, and he must time his jumps accordingly when he skids on the ice ramps of Planet Freon. The most unusual level stipulation is definitely in the music-themed Planet Sonata, where Ristar must carry around what looks like a metronome to satisfy a series of birds that block progression. I’d label it as an escort mission, but I don’t think the classic gaming objective applies to inanimate objects. Still, it’s the thought of changing the course from point A to B with these various eccentricities that spice up the blandness that had become the 2D platformer formula at this point. In saying that, I could’ve done without the memory test that halted me in Planet Scorch.

Given that every Sega Genesis game tended to be as unforgiving as a scorned ex-wife during a divorce hearing, how badly did Ristar beat me into submission like its compatriots? Overall, I found the game to be comparatively merciful, but only in the sense that the judge didn’t send me to the electric chair immediately upon hearing my guilty verdict. In this context, Ristar subscribes to the typical Genesis notion that passwords are a more suitable way to log progress than manual saves and that the player should be sent back to square one if they prove themselves to be unskilled. However, Ristar does at least give the player the chance to continue from the start of the level if they exhaust their lives, and offers enough accommodations to prevent such an unfortunate occurrence from happening immediately. Ristar will often find stars in chests that fill his health meter, and even the upgraded one that fills the maximum of four isn’t as rare as a four-leaf clover. Extra life pick-ups aren’t especially scant, and enemy activity never becomes overwhelming. It has some antiquated ideals that make it a product of its time, but Ristar’s strive for accessibility, done without breaking some sort of Sega code of punishment ethics, is enough to get into my good graces.

I’m especially thankful that Ristar was relatively charitable with its healing trinkets because the bosses were the ones walloping me the hardest. Essentially, the trick to defeating each of Ristar’s executives is to find a window to grab it and hit him where his biscuits are baked. However, because each boss is built differently physically, they might not easily offer that moment of vulnerability. The armadillo of Planet Scorch protects itself with its solid exterior while digging up dirt to hit Ristar with, the hammerhead shark of Planet Undertow is quite sprightly in the water, and trying to cram the spicy dish into the mouth of the boss in Planet Freon was as frustrating as trying to force-feed a fussy toddler. Still, despite how each boss was uniquely vexing in their own ways, none of them compares to the nightmare encounter with Greedy at the game’s climax. Learning a pattern while he’s bombarding Ristar with those blue bots is viable. However, the conditions of his second phase, such as being pelted from above when Ristar has to grip onto an object to avoid being sucked into his black hole attack or dodging his lightning strike, seem to be purely dependent on luck. The developers should’ve changed this intergalactic asshole’s name to “Wrathful” with the barrage of pain he inflicts onto the player in the game’s final moments.

After the galaxy had been saved, I couldn't really make heads or tails of Ristar. It’s an odd duck on the Sega Genesis, a game that I can’t decide if its reworking of the traditional platformer tropes is refreshing or if they’re too offbeat to resonate with me. They work well enough to craft a competent product that’s certainly engaging, but I can’t say I’m surprised that Ristar-mania never caught on or that it didn’t receive a 3D sequel on the subsequent Sega systems. Going back to the foster home analogy, Ristar was evidently the quirky kid who carried around a portable vinyl player that played Neutral Milk Hotel, or something. I admire its zany spirit, but is it enough to distract everyone from Sonic’s roaring blast processing? I suppose not.

Another Crab's Treasure Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 7/25/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Another Crab's Treasure

Developer: Aggro Crab

Publisher: Aggro Crab

Genre(s): Soulslike, 3D Platformer

Platforms: PC, Switch, PS5, Xbox One, X Series X

Release Date: April 25, 2024

Perhaps the prevalent Souls fatigue felt after over a decade of FromSoft’s seminal series serving as a prime muse for modern game design is that its disciples may have crafted their works a little too derivatively from FromSoft’s sources. Lies of P is that Victorian gothic Souls game that is undoubtedly meant to provide a second wind for Bloodborne, and Lords of the Fallen is a Dark Souls rehash so shameless that it hardly merits an existence at all. I’ve said this before, and I evidently need to say it again: the strength of emulating the design philosophy of Dark Souls lies in how it can be diverted from the series’ thematic constitution. Tunic comes to mind with its squeaky, fluorescent visuals, but the top-down Zelda-esque perspective may have deviated too far from the gameplay essence of Dark Souls. In this week’s episode of “Let’s Take Dark Souls and Push it Somewhere Else,” we dive down in the deep blue sea for Another Crab’s Treasure, a curious indie title from debutante game developer, Aggro Crab. Instead of a medieval setting with morose thematic undertones, the aquatic adventure that Another Crab’s Treasure is establishing as its thematic forefront carries connotations of something whimsical and wondrous–evoking the sensation that Jacques Cousteau must have felt while exploring the drink. Similar to Tunic, its cartoonish indie visuals suggest something more catching and agreeable than the dire doom and depression that defines the direction of Dark Souls. Another Crab’s Treasure is ostensibly designed as a stark departure from the patented despair of Dark Souls, but eventually, direct comparisons start to subtly bubble up on the surface.

However, I’m probably going to dedicate most of this review to pointing out the aspects that make Another Crab’s Treasure a different beast from Dark Souls. Firstly, Another Crab’s Treasure institutes a canon protagonist with outlined characteristics as opposed to the player’s personal avatar, who they usually spend an average of half an hour customizing just to have their facial features obscured by armor anyway. Krill is a hermit crab who lives as sheltered a life as a small sea crustacean possibly could, until a “loan shark” (a toy shark head supported on a stick) seizes his shell on a decree from the royal ruler of the kingdom of Slacktide and its surrounding territories, where Krill resides. Not willing to take his untimely and unjust eviction sitting down and become an easy meal for the seagulls circling overhead, Krill veers further from his comfort zone into the depths of the ocean below on a mission to reclaim his mobile shelter. As his quest progresses, Krill’s shell keeps eluding him to the extent where he must partake in a treasure hunt, whose rumored riches are the only way to satisfy the shyster shrimp who possesses Krill’s home. In the quest arc of “It’s a Crab, Crab, Crab, Crab, World,” Krill’s comfort zone is deviated so drastically that he ventures to places where no native sea-dweller dares tread. Unlike the “chosen undead” from the Souls series, Krill has what we in the biz call a “dynamic character arc.” His unfortunate situation and the quest he must undergo to amend it see this little orange invertebrate turn from a timid whelp to a bona fide warrior, intrinsically connected to the player’s growth as they journey onward. Krill’s arc arranges a far clearer connection between narrative and gameplay progression than the flatlined custodial duties of wiping away the mess of a doomed kingdom from any FromSoft game.

Then again, I realize that one’s personal avatar from Dark Souls has a circumstantial significance to the story because any of their achievements, big or small, are ultimately negated by the smothering feeling of despair that engulfs the setting. What’s the point in celebrating when you know full well that your accomplishments will be voided by the oncoming oblivion? In Another Crab’s Treasure, the player can be more inclined to revel in their exploits because the game isn’t crushing them with an ever-present dirge. The ocean, the encompassing setting of Another Crab’s Treasure, can feel daunting from its sheer immensity alone, with Krill’s inexperience tacking onto the trepidation of it all. While it does present an appropriately challenging undertaking, the deep blue sea, as it's depicted in Another Crab’s Treasure, is not another despondent realm waiting to be put out of its misery. The sense of awe instilled in the player once they dip Krill into the drink for the first time never wavers, marveling at all of the underwater imagery from the sandy sea floor all the way to the surface. Maybe any underwater setting would be inherently captivating because my landlubber anatomy restricts me from seeing the full extent of it for myself, but not even the rough-hewn indie graphics that Another Crab’s Treasure are admittedly working with can diminish its enigmatic majesty.

On the subject of the visuals in Another Crab’s Treasure, the blockier quirks of a smaller budget better complement the more lighthearted tone the game exudes. Not only does the game tend to drift away from the general gloom of Dark Souls, but it is also filled to the brim with humorous moments and elements. References are (sometimes literally) littered throughout the map, and they all warrant a fair chuckle from me. Discarded “Mario” cigarette cartons and the Captain Crunch cereal box, whose backside details the treasure’s location, are among the various parody-sanctioned product placements. An empty “Elden Bay” canister really titillated my inner Marylander. The player can find a certain pineapple domicile on the field, in addition to dressing Krill up as a particular penny-pinching crustacean from SpongeBob SquarePants, both of which pay homage to a fellow undersea piece of entertainment media. The characters also tend to substitute swear words for similar-sounding terms that relate to their underwater lexicon, like the aforementioned Nickelodeon cartoon series. There are also references to other video games galore, ranging from classics like Krill obscuring himself in a cardboard box like Solid Snake to shouting out its contemporary indie peers like Pizza Tower, Cult of the Lamb, and Among Us. Naturally, its sensei Dark Souls is hinted at plenty of times, with an armor helm that resembles something equippable from that series, and a bonfire can be located in a remote side of the ocean, but it will not serve as a checkpoint. If Another Crab’s Treasure proves to be too perky for the seasoned Souls veterans, the game even offers a “Dark Souls filter” that mutes the bright aesthetic to a depressed gray and leaves Krill with a perpetual frown. Touche, you smartasses.

As for the section of the ocean that encompasses the world of Another Crab’s Treasure, the developers subscribe to the geographical aspect that the indescribably vast body of water has many layers to it. This refers to the variety of foregrounds present in the game, as well as the backdrop looks rather different the further one plunges deeper. At the northern tip of the flat Shallows lies the capital of Slacktide, an enormous sandcastle where Krill uses the spacious interior and supportive exterior architecture as the battleground against Magista’s royal guards. Once the implacable tyrant has been slain by Krill after she loses her sanity even further due to the corruption of “gunk,” the starting area is completely deserted and the center of the game’s world shifts to a fairly untenanted, Hyule Field-esque dominion of land referred to as “The Sands Between” (referencing Elden Ring for good measure, eh?). Towards the southern cardinal direction of this vacant mass is New Carcinia, which in essence becomes the game’s hub that Krill returns to from time to time to converse with its notable NPCs. The game’s only metropolitan area is quite intriguing due to the clear dichotomy between its opulent upper half, where strikingly colorful buildings are built side by side like a ritzy uphill neighborhood of San Francisco, and the comparatively destitute lower half that still exudes a thrilling nightlife atmosphere despite being composed entirely of cheap cardboard like a child’s makeshift fort. To the east of The Sand Between lies the captivatingly lush Expired Grove and the industrial sewer pit of Flotsam Vale, which is undoubtedly another tribute to Miyazaki’s output, considering it emulates one of his habitual “the floor is poison” levels that he likes to inflict on players. For my money, the standout areas in Another Crab’s Treasure are those of the third and final act of the game: The Unfathom and Old Ocean. The former is designed to impress a feeling of anxiety in the player, as it takes place in the darkest trenches of the known ocean, where only sparsely-placed artificial lighting guides Krill through pathways with vicious barracudas and angler fish, plus king-sized crabs who shoot explosive lasers like the guardians from Breath of the Wild. The latter is, conversely, a sublime treat with an immaculate, ethereal atmosphere. It’s the Another Crab’s Treasure equivalent to the lost, sunken city of Atlantis or, dare say, the glimmering city of Anor Londo. One may initially dismiss the overall selection of areas here and state that the consistent underwater setting confines the game to an elongated session with one of gaming’s most common and divisive elemental level themings. Still, the variety on display here is proof that these detractors fail to comprehend the potential of such an unfathomably monumental mass of water, such as the ocean.

To traverse the hostile landscape that lies within the world’s biggest pool, Another Crab’s Treasure involves gameplay aspects that Dark Souls usually doesn’t delve into. Another Crab’s Treasure’s gameplay is incredibly platforming-intensive, and they are genuine test of jumping accuracy as opposed to when Dark Souls incorporates inappropriate instances of acrobatics just to fuck with the player’s perception of the game’s mechanical foundation. Krill will gracefully wade through the water to momentarily glide onto platforms, while adopting the hookshot from Sekiro will propel him to heights unreachable, provided there is a net or a hanging hook in the vicinity. Between Krill’s undersea swashbuckling are hostiles that must be methodically managed, lest the player sees “A WATERY GRAVE” countless times while reverting to their last discovered checkpoint. Dark Souls offers the player a plethora of weapons to dispatch all foes that stand in their way, but Another Crab’s Treasure decides to limit Krill to one choice item: a fork. Aggro Crab is evidently not based out of Maryland, for I know that the best utensil to combat sea creatures with shelled exteriors is either a wooden mallet or a metallic cracker. Nevertheless, having the pronged eating apparatus as the game’s sole means of attacking does put a damper on player customizability, even if it can be strengthened by New Carcinia’s blacksmith by giving him rare keys referred to as “stainless relics.” Auxiliary attacks known as “adaptations” are available to spruce up the elements of combat, but they ultimately exist to add conditions that support the fork. Couldn’t Krill unearth some sacred butterknife from the sand like The Master Sword at some point, or uncover a spork as an upgraded fusion of his standard weapon?

While the game’s offense is heavily restricted, the same cannot be said for the defensive side of the combat coin. Shields are as prevalent in Dark Souls as swords, albeit as a supplemental tool to augment defense if deemed necessary by less agile or confident players. The same could be said for a hermit crab’s shell, and combining the hardened perks of the two gives way to the game’s most distinctive gameplay mechanic. Krill will start with the aluminum of empty soda cans, then the solid glass of mason jars, the calcium-rich skulls of what I can presume to be the remains of overly ambitious deep-sea divers, etc. I’d describe the three size differences between every shell and how they factor into both traversal and combat, but that would shorthand the smattering of abilities that many shells also include. Soda cans emit an array of homing, fizzy projectiles, edible shells like eggs and sushi rolls can be eaten to regain health (which is disturbingly cannibalistic if you think about it), spherical objects like tennis balls and coconuts can be charged and rolled out as if they were being thrown, etc. My personal favorite and the shell that I pinned to Krill for my playthrough is an eyepatch-wearing rubber ducky named Bartholomew, who Krill can eject from as it explodes in a last resort. The number of objects that Krill can attach to his backside is so staggeringly assorted that it’s practically the game’s primary collectible of sorts. All of the many attributes that each shell possesses keep the player engaged enough to go the distance and find all of these protective hides that Krill can lodge himself into if combat becomes too tough to handle.

Did I mention that each shell that Krill discovers can be insured at an extravagant shop in New Carcinia called “Shellfish Desires?” For a meager fee, Krill can recover any shell that he’s discovered and even pin certain shells to automatically respawn with him upon every resurrection. This convenience, plus a treasure trove of other accommodations, definitely creates a divide between Another Crab’s Treasure and its prime inspiration. Furthermore, Dark Souls would be damned if it ever provided any visual aid to help the player navigate through its arduous terrain, but every single area of Another Crab’s Treasure is gorgeously illustrated on the dedicated map screen of the pause menu. The map also indicates the locations of Krill’s remnants he leaves upon dying, even providing a compass that directs the player towards them without needing to halt the game by pressing the pause button. The contents of Krill’s leavings contain microplastics, the game’s version of “souls” gained through defeating enemies that are needed to level up and purchase items. Whereas souls are the be-all, end-all lifeblood keeping the player afloat in Dark Souls, the microplastics coexist with another type of crystal currency found mostly on the field, which is exchanged to extend more branches in Krill’s skill tree and upgrade his adaptations. The estus equivalent of “kelp pods” never extends past a skimpy three or four per use, which would prove to be a serious issue in any Souls game. However, the moon snail shells, where Krill can refresh himself and strengthen his stats like a bonfire, are more common and conspicuously placed, so the player is unlikely to undergo an endurance test between checkpoints where their healing supply is gone. If all else fails, the game’s options menu allows Krill to equip a goddamn hand cannon, which eradicates any enemy with one shot of searing lead. I recommend trying this juggernaut shell just once for the sake of hilarity. Listing all the ways in which Another Crab’s Treasure cuts the player some slack may motivate some Souls veterans to bar entryway to the game at the gates of the prestigious Soulslike country club. Again, I have to remind them that steep difficulty was never an intentional tenet of Dark Souls’ design and that accessible features such as these are welcome and do not compromise on the genre’s identity or direction.

One of the most significant ways in which Another Crab’s Treasure lessens the kung-fu grip that Dark Souls tends to bind the player with is the opportunity to spawn directly outside of a boss's domain if Krill fails to smite them. Instead of reminding the youth about the laborious treks to school, as elderly people often express, I’m sure my generation will be waxing poetic about the routes up to a boss from a bonfire and which one had the most irritating adversity during our twilight years. In the case of Another Crab’s Treasure, a jellyfish will kindly teleport Krill right outside his destination to his former microplastic amount, mitigating the tedium of retreads where harm may occur before the boss fight. I’ll probably lose some credibility upon expressing gratitude for this perk, but when did the journey leading up to a boss become a relevant condition to its difficulty? The relevant factor here that persists is how often the player needs to take advantage of the jellyfish's services, and the player should invest in a loyalty member card due to how demanding many of the game’s bosses can be. Immediately, the player can encounter the Royal Shellsplitter off the beaten path in The Shallows, and his executioner shtick with a black mask and a vegetable slicer used as a guillotine should prove to be intensely intimidating to a fresh-faced Krill. Bosses such as the strapping, chopstick-wielding Heikea even weaponize their intimidation factor by inflicting Krill with literal fright that forces him to cower under his shell for a brief period. Krill will have to contend with the poisonous properties of the gunk while fighting the Diseased Lichenthrope and The Consortium, and the latter gets my pick of the most unconventional boss in the game that involves slicing ropes to the giant cage of mutant sea creatures as compact as Legion from Castlevania. Either that, or facing off against the eerily cheerful eel Voltai, whose wide array of offense includes a certain electronic marital item that somehow eluded the censors. If I had to pick a single standout boss from the game, the fight against Pagurus proved to pump my nads more than any other because of how his encounter is framed. After carefully traipsing the specific path laid out in the Sands Between, confronting this big purple bully after Krill gets stronger and accessing the rest of the area as a result of his demise felt incredibly cathartic. Admittedly, the overall boss roster is sullied by the alliterative trio of reskinned crabs, and I’m sure the game’s credibility will come into contention once again with the prevalence of signals that warn the player of an oncoming effective attack. Still, any boss that involves an orderly alteration between dodging and attacking with strict, punishing margins of error at play spells out a proper Soulslike in my book.

I also must mention the more narratively significant bosses that stamp a more pronounced milestone with their defeat. Namely, the entrepreneurial isopod Roland. Using his unparalleled wealth as the CEO of the lucrative Shellfish Corp, Roland became New Carcinia’s de facto leader when the former mayor passed away. He assures that stepping up to this executive position was a noble act to rebalance order, but everyone can transparently see that he seized an opportunity to possess total control over the populace as quickly as a sailfish. Point at his sinister bodyguard, Inkerton, for evidence that Roland doesn’t take kindly to insubordinate conduct like any iron-fisted ruler. Taking the treasure for himself while the other New Carcinia NPCs desperately need it props him up as an obvious antagonist, but it’s what Roland represents outside of his obvious opposer role that speaks for the ultimate theme of Another Crab’s Treasure. If I had to summarize the game’s narrative goal into a thesis statement, it’s that the dirty deeds of capitalism are condemning our oceans to an early grave. Look no further than Roland’s big business of Scuttleport, which is polluting Flotsam Vale to a point of inhabitability as evidence of their claim, or the fact that the majority of shells Krill can use are all disposable items we’ve shoveled into the ocean as a lazy convenience. The denizens of New Carcinia are so used to trash piling down on them that they’ve formulated an economic backbone out of these occurrences, and the irony is never lost on their gleeful ignorance whenever a barge of detritus rains over their city from the surface. Roland is eventually stopped by Krill, but when the meddlesome, arrogant blue crab Firth, who greatly admires Roland, takes the mythical Whorl and intends to continue his rubbish-oriented campaign using its power, the game illustrates that there will be no shortage of greedy, uncaring bastards who continue the cycle of corruption until our planet’s largest natural entity is eradicated. The loading icon is the universal symbol for recycling, for fuck’s sake. The bleak undertones of Another Crab’s Treasure are where the Dark Souls connections run the deepest, presenting a dying world that is on the verge of collapse, which is even more unsettling because of its real-life parallels. Still, I wish the satire and allegories used to express the grim state of affairs weren’t hitting the player over the head with their points as bluntly as a sledgehammer.

Another Crab’s Treasure is an astute pupil in the class of soulslikes. Unlike many lackluster Dark Souls imitators, it understands that RPG mechanics and high difficulty curves are only formalities and fractions of the series. With a more profound understanding of the apocalyptic world-building of Dark Souls, Aggro Crab crafts a game with a poignant ecological message, even though it blares in the player’s face as loudly as Marty McFly’s amplifier. Its stark thematic distinctiveness is only one way in which Another Crab’s Treasure warps the essence and idiosyncrasies of the influential FromSoft series, for any of its offspring have also never been this cheeky or integrated platforming this competently. When we’re at the point where games of this ilk are explicitly defining themselves as Soulslikes (as noted in the game’s loading screen), we need to shuffle the genre’s tropes around as such to avoid sinking into cliches. Some Souls purists may scoff at Another Crab’s Treasure for streamlining and subverting so many traditions the series has laid out to an almost flippant degree. For the open-minded gamer, however, they’re unlikely to find another Soulslike as fresh and charming as this one.

Kingdom Hearts Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 7/15/2025)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Kingdom Hearts

Developer: Square

Publisher: Square

Genre(s): Action-RPG

Platforms: PS2

Release Date: March 28, 2002

Is 29 too old an age to start playing Kingdom Hearts? Is 9 too old to start playing Kingdom Hearts? That was the impression I gathered from a childhood friend of mine who dissuaded me from experiencing Square Enix’s colorful JRPG series with a rabid fan following when I was still of its appropriate age demographic. Simply put, he said the series was “lame,” but he also expressed the same lackluster sentiment on the first Jak and Daxter game because “it didn’t have any guns” like its sequels. Thank God I ignored him for that one, but I let his assessment of Kingdom Hearts color my decision to snub it during my gaming prime. What makes my shunning of Kingdom Hearts at the time especially lamentable is that the series is likely to exclusively attract gamers situated in its targeted consumer base of children and perhaps pre-teens. Experiencing Kingdom Hearts as an adult might elicit the opposite reaction of jubilation, which might include the symptoms that Pepto-Bismol is intended to remedy. The game’s conceptual foundation is a crossover between Final Fantasy and Disney’s intellectual properties, for the love of fuck. This convergence between two entities from two separate sides of the entertainment media landscape was initially thought to be ludicrous at first, but even without the hindsight of the series’ avid following for over two decades as proof, I could’ve told you that Final Fantasy and Disney are a match made in heaven (or Hell). Still, their offspring here is like the video game crossover equivalent of a jagerbomb, an alcoholic cocktail composed of Jagermeister and Red Bull that is so sickeningly sweet and syrupy that it should be illegal. Simply because two things have natural chemistry together doesn’t mean that they should copulate. However, despite how I’ve expressed that the two media institutions that make me bilious in their own rights are liable to kill me as quick as strychnine when they join forces, there has always been something about Kingdom Hearts that has intrigued me.

Apparently, the Disney half is the more otherworldly of Kingdom Hearts’ concoction, portrayed as a fantastical escape into the exciting realm of adventure for our plucky young protagonist, Sora. While the scrappy, blue-eyed boy and his two companions of similar ages, Riku and Kairi, are obviously cut from the same cloth of Square Enix’s contribution to Kingdom Heart’s conceptual mix judging by their designs, it doesn’t take playing every game in Final Fantasy’s exorbitantly lengthy library to know that they have been created as wholly original characters exclusively for this new IP. Still, their humdrum life of lenient responsibilities exists in the realm of Final Fantasy, considering that established characters from Square’s series live in close quarters with them. Yes, everyone knows that the epitome of a mundane, Norman Rockwell-esque existence involves a Swiss Family Robinson lifestyle on a deserted tropical island with Wakka from Final Fantasy as one’s neighbor, pissing off one’s parents by accidentally kicking his blitzball through the window every other week. Whether or not their existences are as ordinary as the game’s introduction is depicted as being, its normalcy for Sora and company is interrupted when shadowy creatures known as “The Heartless” invade their island home and envelop both Riku and Kairi into a void of the unknown. Sora, on the other hand, does not join the fate of his friends because he’s the prophetic figure destined to rid the Disney multiverse of the Heartless plague with the esteemed keyblade weapon that brandishes Mickey Mouse’s royal insignia. Still, a fraction of what makes him worthy of wielding such a prestigious weapon is his selfless, good-natured personality, so he’s determined to save his friends from the predicament that has been foisted onto them. Similar to Zelda, Kingdom Hearts presents the plot premise of the archetypal hero–a young boy’s call to adventure prompted by his savoir role, formally unbeknownst to him, that has been foretold among said adventure’s key supporting characters. It fits the overarching tone of Kingdom Hearts appropriately, but the way in which the game contrasts Sora’s uneventful life with the journey that ensues shows a laughable lack of perspective on the part of the developers.

Just to clarify, my distaste for both Final Fantasy and Disney does not stem from a general apprehension I have towards all media created for children. Otherwise, my catalog of reviews wouldn’t heavily feature Mario, Sonic, Kirby, and several other platformer mascots meant to sucker in kiddies of all kinds. No, the overall mark against both entities that in turn makes them inter-media soul mates is that they are cornier than my stool after a third helping of succotash. I don’t know which media executive figured that cloying, mawkish sentimentality and baroque melodrama were key ingredients in striving for accessibility. Still, considering the success of Final Fantasy and Disney (to a disproportionately greater extent) which are both brimming with these characteristics, he might have been onto something. Personally, there isn’t a Lactaid strong enough I can take to withstand the cheese oozing from either entity’s pores as profusely as SpongeBob after being dipped in fondue. In saying that, I do express a fair amount of respect for Final Fantasy for pioneering the groundwork in what we know as the JRPG genre, even though I tend to gravitate towards titles in the genre that subvert its thematic foundation. Disney, on the other hand, I probably haven’t said anything agreeable in their regard since I was in kindergarten. Not only did Disney’s eponymous founder have a black belt in bigotry, making David Duke seem like an amateur by comparison, but the collective of properties owned by his monolithic corporation that are showcased here as Kingdom Hearts’ various levels also reminds us that he was the biggest hack fraud in entertainment history. Barely any of Disney’s intellectual constitution consists of an original idea. Hell, the estate of Edgar Rice Burroughs demanded that Kingdom Hearts credit him so the developers could use Tarzan, and this game is backed by a corporation so indescribably huge that you’d think they’d be bulletproof. Hercules is from the storied Greek mythos, British author Lewis Caroll penned Alice in Wonderland, The Little Mermaid is a Danish fairy tale, Winnie the Pooh is the brainchild of A.A. Milne, etc. And these are just a few examples from what’s included in the game! A Nightmare Before Christmas is technically a property that Disney can proudly call its own without adaptational complications involved, but the film is so staunchly associated with Tim Burton and his idiosyncratic direction and art style that the film is like a cousin twice removed from Disney’s canon. The mishmash of hijacked literary works with Disney’s patented schmaltz injected as a brand signifier is a reminder of the company’s all-around creative bankruptcy, but that’s not really the fault of Kingdom Hearts. Then again, separating further from the source material with yet another layer of interpretation is bound to water it down even more, which makes Kingdom Hearts exude an air of pastiche if anything.

Despite everything I’ve said, the format of combining all of these familiar properties as the pieces of a whole new product with foreign characters exploring them was what struck a chord in me when I was a child. Upon learning the concept that drives Kingdom Hearts’ narrative progression, I started obsessively concocting scenarios where my friends and I invaded fictional worlds that I was fond of (mostly from video games) and directed the stories surrounding them with my own creative insertions at the helm. The conceit was such a prevalent influence on my daydreams way back when that it’s unbelievable that I’m just now experiencing the source of my stimulation. So, do Sora’s escapades through treaded territory match the sense of wonder that the concept once instilled within me? Relatively, but I’m naturally lowering my expectations twenty years later. The cavalcade of Disney worlds is presented as if each property is an individual planet situated in the same galaxy, minus Winnie the Pooh’s domain where Sora teleports to a book containing the Hundred-Acre Woods to maintain the series’ presentational construct of a literal storybook setting. The vast majority of these worlds are segmented into districts, tied together by their recognizability from the film which the area stems or the shared, sensibly consistent iconography. I’m not sure if it's due to the graphics or the overall design, but each district emanates a feeling of a facsimile, as if we’re experiencing each Disney world via a series of dioramic models. I can’t determine whether or not it's a charmingly quaint aspect of the levels of Kingdom Hearts or if the uncanniness signals a bothersome sense of inauthenticity. Fortunately, each area’s distinctive gimmick adds a fair layer of moderate meat to spruce up its blankness and add some stipulations to standard progression. Sora consumes one food that makes him larger and one that makes him small as Jefferson Airplane once sang about in Wonderland, and the vines that dangle from the towering trees of Tarzan’s jungle are so long that they function as an organic slide. Olympus takes a different direction entirely as it is nothing but a series of enemy gauntlets taking place in a decorated gladiatorial arena–conducted by everyone’s favorite satyr Phil, who probably collects everyone’s wagers. I can’t say I’m all that chuffed that the underwater conditions of Atlantica force Sora to swim with a magical mermaid tail the entire time, but the consistent change of pace allocated to this world alone still fits the admirable pattern of flipping the script with each new setting unlocked. In the grand scheme of things, the veritable buffet of Disney worlds represented here are glorified versions of the typically wide selection of level themes found mostly in platformer games. Still, while I recognize that Kingdom Hearts is masking this trope with the perk of licensed properties at its disposal, it does achieve the same effect of preserving the player’s interest with variation. The novelty of seeing familiar land rendered in an interactive medium also helps, I suppose.

In addition to their polar topographies, another point of distinctiveness between all of the Disney worlds showcased in Kingdom Hearts is the thematically specific subplots contained in each of them. It’s as if Sora is interrupting the course of the respective film each world is based on, interacting with each world’s characters and creating an alternate deviation in plot direction as a result of his interference. Ariel still yearns to break free from her sheltered life under the overly protective watch of her royal father, Alice is awaiting her court-ordered decapitation issued by the Queen of Hearts, and Clayton is still breathing and walking about the jungle, with a lust to kill a gorilla so potent that it's borderline erotic. Fellow Kingdom Hearts-oriented faction, the “Heartless,” also seems to invade the scene as a new source of conflict amongst the ongoing established one, giving Jack Skellington new material to work with to spruce up the stagnating Halloween traditions of his holiday-themed residence. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t pan out for the Pumpkin King. Kingdom Hearts juggles injecting its own original content into these established stories gracefully enough, but it’s the way in which the player must progress this deviated scenario that is a bit oblique. Essentially, the player’s objective is to find the following cutscene that continues Sora’s mission to seal the world’s keyhole, which is anyone’s guess what the exact trajectory is to complete this recurring task. Once the player finds all of the immediate districts just by following the path of uncharted territory, it’s almost guaranteed that they’ll hit a brick wall in progression, and no amount of intuition will lead the player towards the intended destination where the next cutscene takes place. Oftentimes, furthering oneself through an area in Kingdom Hearts feels as hazy and directionless as attempting to find the origin point of where a fart was ejected. Every level in Kingdom Hearts is guilty of letting the player loose to blindly stumble around, but the worst offender of this is “Deep Jungle,” where the player must climb from the campgrounds to the tippy top of the colossal treehouse at least THREE times before they finally confront Clayton. The consensus pick seems to be Monstro (aka the whale that swallowed Pinocchio), but I’d argue that the innards of a sea leviathan are the only place the game offers where this labyrinthian, dungeon-crawler-esque level design is appropriate. Even the supposed “hub” of Traverse Town has the player run through each of its three districts in an indistinct pattern that is intended to eventually lead Sora to bumping into Donald and Goofy for the first time. I’ve often expressed that linearity in level progression can be a total snoozefest, but this mix of backtracking and shot-in-the-dark traversal is both contrived and unintuitive.

Kingdom Hearts also seems to punish the player while being adrift because the Heartless they once defeated will be resurrected once again if they retrace familiar territory. The tarry soul-suckers are the primary enemy type in Kingdom Hearts that Sora encounters, and the array of Heartless types is as diverse as the demons from Doom. Sora will start with swiping his keyblade at the knee-level, impish ones that invaded his island home, but they will soon be accompanied by Heartless that are at least five times more formidable. Some common variations include ones with wings that vaguely resemble bats, floating mages that absorb the elemental magic that coincides with their color, and rotund ones whose backsides are their vulnerable spots–evidently showing that they still possess stomachs if not a beating ticker. Other Heartless shape their identities from the world in which they reside, such as the skeletons in “Halloween Town,” the pirates aboard Captain Hook’s ship in Neverland, the ones that don Arabic garb while wielding scimitars in “Agrabah,” etc. The Heartless are certainly an eclectic band of interdimensional parasites; therefore, why Pinocchio's singing shoulder companion, Jiminy Cricket, keeps a log of them in a bestiary compendium. Their diversity is merely one fraction of their irritability on the field, but the feeling of annoyance mostly stems from their excessiveness. When arriving at any district of any world, it's almost guaranteed that Sora will be ambushed by a team of Heartless, with at least three different breeds fighting all at once. Not only do encounters come in multiple phases, but any aura of action in Kingdom Hearts will cancel interacting with anything else, like treasure chests and totally negate the use of the menu–erecting the most minimal pause screen imaginable instead. The Heartless demand that the player give them their full attention like a stern teacher during a lecture, which I’d find quite conceited, even if they have such a prominent relevance to the game’s narrative. Luckily, entertaining every bout with the throngs of Heartless will compensate the player nicely with the abundant expulsion of green health orbs and “munny,” the game’s currency that I hope was a typo left unchecked by the developers.

The persistence of the Heartless conjures up comparisons to the constant encounters that one experiences while playing a turn-based RPG title. Obviously, this is because Kingdom Hearts’ DNA is composed of half of that genre’s gameplay formula. Kingdom Hearts is staunchly situated as an action-RPG, a category of role-playing game that favors frenetic, uninterrupted combat as opposed to the patient, methodical inertia of the traditional turn-based setting. Increasing Sora’s various attributes via leveling up through combat is a core mechanical component, and his equipment can be swapped and accessorized to either augment these stats or customize a player’s comfortable gameplay forte. As par for the role-playing course, Kingdom Hearts offers two combat options that exist on opposite sides of the physical spectrum. The keyblade is naturally Sora’s melee weapon, slashing the droves of Heartless with an elegant onslaught of slick combos. The player can also choose to fight the Heartless at an impersonal range with magic attacks that span the typical elementals of fire, ice, and electricity. Later down the line, Sora can learn how to implement status-affecting magic, such as healing and using the power of winds as a minor defensive barrier. The latter magic mentioned is a blessing for any late-game challenges, but I always found the offensive side of Sora’s spells to be unremarkably tepid throughout his adventure, even in their enhanced versions. Maybe I verged towards the shade of melee inadvertently due to my penchant to do so in games of the same genre, but attempting to zap, burn, or freeze any breed of Heartless only ever resulted in shaving off a sliver of their total health. I’d suggest incorporating elemental weaknesses into the combat equation to give Sora’s magic some extra oomph, but perhaps that would result in an overload of parameters to work with.

The game does admittedly find alternate ways to make Sora’s magic useful with minor platforming or puzzle conditions that pop up occasionally. This is, to say, that non-combat-oriented mechanics involving Sora’s spells are needed once in a blue moon, but platforming in general is as second nature to Kingdom Hearts as its RPG components. To fully foster the wondrous sensation of exploring a Disney world, Kingdom Hearts implements utility-gated conditions to preserve the player’s curiosity. All out-of-reach platforming snags are resolved with every step in increasing Sora’s airborne aptitude, first expanding his jump to the heights of Air Jordan and then allowing him to glide briskly with the aid of Peter Pan’s fairy dust. The ability to unlock the five different trinity markers in milestone increments also generates a revisitation trip or two, and the goodies rewarded to the player for going the distance and seeing what’s behind these colorful ground stamps are either rare materials, extremely efficient weaponry, or one of the 101 dalmatians the game implements as a collectible. Mmm, my Metroidvania senses are tingling, and they’re quite surprised to be perked up in an action RPG such as Kingdom Hearts.

Really, what all of these atypical elements for an action-RPG indicate is that Kingdom Hearts is taking a kitchen sink approach in its overall directive. Emphasizing aerodynamicism on the field is one thing, but there is no greater piece of evidence that Kingdom Hearts refuses to commit to a stable gameplay identity than the interplanetary traversal sections. When I refer to the string of Disney properties that Kingdom Hearts showcases as “worlds,” I’m not using the term to broadly divide them. Kingdom Hearts is situated smack dab in the literal Disney universe, a galaxy of properties externalized as planets that orbit the Disney King’s castle (it’s Mickey. The game overtly obscures this information for some reason, like we can’t take an educated guess). Because the realm of space in Kingdom Hearts is as terrifyingly harsh as it is in reality, Sora acquires a game-patented spaceship known as a “gummi.” This space vessel that resembles a knock-off Lego creation the size of a walnut intrepidly undergoes sections that emulate the high-octane on-rails shooting of Star Fox. Of course, these sections aren’t nearly as refined and robust as Nintendo’s IP, but that’s to be expected of a game that insists on treating its overall gameplay essence like throwing darts on the wall. The transitions between worlds in Kingdom Hearts are an adequate enough mini-game to supplement a dry, standard loading screen, but its gameplay is so bare bones that it's as if space in the Disney universe is still in the underdeveloped fetal period right after the big bang occurred. If the game didn’t allow a warp function to quickly travel to planets previously visited, I would’ve stubbornly put the gummi on autopilot out of exasperation. However, even though piloting the gummi is an elementary excursion, the same cannot be said for the shockingly overcomplicated ordeal of modifying it in Chip and Dale’s garage. I will not pass judgment on anyone who either had to read the tutorial multiple times or refused to humor this little mechanic job altogether.

Kingdom Hearts might have a habit of undercooking its various gameplay attributes for the sake of variety, but one aspect that the game evidently placed on a pedestal of higher precedence is the boss battles. The Heartless may be the overarching agents of destitution in Kingdom Hearts, but the developers would be remiss if they glossed over the smorgasbord of Disney villains to integrate into the game as its milestone foes. The lineup of iconic antagonists is obscured in shadow as they ominously speak about their devious schemes like the Legion of Doom, but if their recognizable vocal inflections didn’t give away their identities, the rule of thumb is that they will be the final boss of their respective world that they inhabit. We’ve discussed Clayton already as the final confrontation in “Deep Jungle,” even though he’s a non-entity in the overarching plot involving the other villains. As for the members of the villain coalition, Hades pits Final Fantasy’s golden boy, Cloud, against Hercules at the Olympus Colosseum to kill the demigod, Jafar attempts to attain unfathomable power through the mystical genie lamp, Ursula manipulates Ariel to usurp her father’s reign under the sea, Captain Hook captures Wendy while evading that damned hand-chomping crocodile, etc. My favorite of the bunch, the grotesque, yet jaunty Oogie Boogie, is still mucking about Halloween Town with his three Boogie Boys, making mischief from the interior of their walking bathtub. The immensely intimidating Chernabog even makes an appearance, and the thought of being face-to-face with this behemoth demon lord is a spine-chilling prospect. It sounds like I’m fawning over these figures simply for their inclusion alone, like a frothing Disney fan boy, but the aspect of these villains that actually makes me giddy to discuss them is how the developers have designed their respective battles. To my utter surprise, the bosses of Kingdom Hearts are consistently challenging, almost to a degree where I’m concerned for their targeted demographic. As early as the second world visited, Cerberus erected a stiff brick wall in my progression with his spitting of flaming meteors, dark magic pillars emerging from the ground, while he protected all angles of vulnerability with his trio of chomping heads. Ring leader Maleficent burned me to a crisp with her neon green dragon breath too many times for comfort, and the underwater spatial parameters of “Atlantica” handicapped me in the fight against Ursula. Regardless of a particular foe’s steep difficulty curve, every boss fight in Kingdom Hearts requires a certain level of patience and battle acuity, unexpected of a game with the Disney name attached. I shit you not, the game that came to mind as I was dodge rolling, parrying, and looking for a window to heal during these fights was FromSoft’s future action-RPG series that everyone is probably sick to death of me singing the praises of at this point. How’s that for a moment of clarity?

The player must give every boss encounter that Kingdom Hearts dishes out to Sora their utmost attention because help is hard to come by when darkness befalls the Disney universe. Of course, what I’m snidely referring to are Sora’s partners, of whom I’ve been keeping veiled just to dedicate a tirade towards. Steadfast Disney figures Donald Duck and Goofy have been assigned by Mickey to assist Sora on his quest to restore balance to the realm, and it’s as disappointing as your mom making you take your little brother on a date with you. Besides their excruciating voices that make me wish that tinnitus would finally take my hearing out to pasture, these two examples of Walt Disney’s lack of real talent are about as useful to Sora as owning a car while living in Manhattan. They’re both intended to provide support in battle, with Donald predisposed as a magic-casting mage and Goofy as a defensive rock to block blows from Sora with his slightly higher stat range. Still, their inability to refrain from attacking enemies guns blazing and suffering the consequences of this action makes them a consistent liability. That, and the multifaceted elements of some boss battles that require more than simply attacking, like jumping over Oogie’s scythes spinning on his roulette table, guarantee that they’ll eat up damage due to their AI’s narrow perception of battle conditions. Sure, one can change their settings in the menu to make these grating dunderheads more practical, but there’s always an extent to their improvement. I can’t stop Donald from healing Goofy or vice versa instead of Sora as intended, and that’ll likely lead me to a game over as a result. In the sense of the story, are they intended as the comic relief characters? They’re both about as funny as a burning orphanage, or maybe I’m conflating my modern sensibilities with the humorous intent that Walt had in mind with these two during their inception in the early half of the 20th century. Either having a character whose speech is practically unintelligible without subtitles or the other, approaching each serious scenario by saying “gawrsh,” is a total conflict in tone.

I’d say to ditch Donald and Goofy by giving them enough money to drown their sorrows in the House of Blues, but their inclusion is relevant to Kingdom Hearts’ prevalent theme of friendship and other meaningful types of personal bonds. The Heartless aren’t just a race of enemies to provide constant whacking fodder: they seem to represent an overall sense of negativity and despair. Given that our protagonists are representatives of a company whose brand promotes positivity to a degree of superficiality, Sora and company are the combatants of the Heartless in more than just the physical sense, expressing the values of wholesome ideals as do-gooders ideally would. One could point to his blossoming bond between him, Donald, and Goofy as evidence of their stance, but the game presents their claims even clearly in portraying the relationship between Sora and Riku. In their halcyon days on the island, Riku was the stronger and more confident kid that Sora was in friendly competition with. Combine this dynamic with Kairi as a figure amongst it, and I smell a budding, messy love triangle waiting to ruin everything. When Kairi is abducted by the Heartless and the villain faction, Riku and Sora clash in their attempts to be Kairi’s knight in shining armor. Or, shining knight who wields the esteemed keyblade and becomes the hero of great destiny, Sora’s destined title that makes Riku green with envy. Their strained friendship culminates on the grounds of the remarkably ornate and wholly original Hollow Bastion, where it looks as if Riku’s jealousy has turned him to the dark side like Anakin Skywalker. When the keyblade teleports to Riku on his command, Donald and Goofy start following him on account of their assignment, and he throws Riku his old wooden sword as a reminder of his ineffectual inferiority. The scene is quite a gut punch. However, Riku’s newfound villain role is nullified by introducing Ansem, who was possessing Riku to antagonize Sora. The humanoid Heartless leader wishes to submerge the world into a complete dark oblivion using the universe’s core because he believes it to be the nature of the heart. Hmm, where have I heard this diabolical aspiration before? I would’ve loved for the game’s narrative to have culminated in Riku becoming the full antithesis to Sora and have our hero pull the plug on his oldest friend, who had verged too far to the side of evil. It would’ve illustrated a direct dichotomy in choosing the path of light versus dark, but the game decided to backpedal and put a bog-standard villain at the forefront. Then again, if I had a hand at writing for Disney, angry parents would start sending me emails demanding that I pay for their children’s therapy sessions.

Do you believe in magic, dear reader? I was skeptical of such phenomena, but I think I’ve been bewitched by Kingdom Hearts. Admittedly, I could make a drinking game for every time the game made me wince with its overbearingness, as I expected it would. However, the rich layers of gameplay Kingdom Hearts has in store caught me off guard enough to the point where I’m making genuine comparisons to a series I’ve often proclaimed is the zenith of action gameplay. Kingdom Hearts is a well-oiled machine underneath its cherubic surface, the battle bot colored pink wearing a bow that runs circles around its less deceiving competition. Consider its strive for variation that rivals any of my beloved 3D platformers that I grew up with, and this game would’ve floored me as a child, although lord knows I needed another reason to be as unpopular in school as I was already. Kingdom Hearts is flawed, cringy, and exudes all of the characteristics of its father company that I can’t stand on more than just principles alone. Still, I have to give credit where credit is due, and Kingdom Hearts is more than meets the eye. Maybe I’m just a big ol’ softy at the end of the day, and Kingdom Hearts has melted my callous exterior with its charms (or maybe I’m having a stroke).