Thursday, April 25, 2024

River City Ransom Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/13/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


River City Ransom

Developer: Technos Japan

Publisher: Technos Japan

Genre(s): Beat 'em-Up

Platforms: NES

Release Date: April 25, 1989


River City Ransom is one badass motherfucker of an NES title. It’s a notable beat 'em-up in the NES library developed by the same studio that created Double Dragon, so one can plainly see from Technos Japan’s pedigree that they’re hardly amateurs when it comes to crafting solid 8-bit beat ‘em ups. Still, considering that Double Dragon was already one of this developer’s recognizable IPs with plenty of credibility, wouldn’t River City Ransom prove to be redundant? Well, River City Ransom warrants a place in the NES library because it deviates entirely from Double Dragon in tone. Double Dragon is incredibly dated to the decade when it was released. It exudes that boisterously positive, rocking out, shredding-a-Flying V energy that permeated over the media of the 1980s. On the other hand, River City Ransom is a grittier, street-level beat 'em-up with a bluntness to it that Double Dragon doesn’t have. Basically, if Double Dragon is the stadium-filling hard rock of Ratt or Whitesnake, River City Ransom is the punk rock of Black Flag or Agnostic Front. I don’t think I’ve detailed my music taste in any of my reviews but just to be clear, I much, MUCH prefer the latter to the former. Like the abrasive punk rock I’ve compared River City Ransom to, this NES beat ‘em up fulfills a particular niche that the popular Double Dragon doesn’t.

Despite the tonal differences, River City Ransom’s premise is practically identical to that of Double Dragon, almost as if the beat ‘em up genre is stuck in a creative ghetto of story conflicts. Alex, a young man in his upperclassman high school years, is quite miffed when a gang of students from the rival River City High School abducts his girlfriend and holds her hostage. Alex obviously isn’t content with these vicious reprobates taking the love of his life to do god knows what with her, so he’s prepared to storm through hundreds of teenage goons to save her. A fellow CrossTown High School student named Ryan will assist Alex in this daunting, heroic escapade if a second player is available. Together, they’re like Billy and Jimmy if they chewed tobacco and etched crude tattoos into their arms with shiv. With the plain white T-shirt, jeans, and greased hair combo, the River City Ransom duo are akin to the blue-collar, salt-of-the-earth guys that would throw a beer can at you if you cut them off in traffic as opposed to righteous, Cobra Kai rejects from Double Dragon.

Since I couldn’t find someone to man the second controller on such short notice, I cannot speak on the dynamic of having both Alex and Ryan on the field. Logically, I would hope Ryan would still offer his aid to Alex even if someone weren’t manning his actions, for the path to Alex’s goal of saving his girlfriend is a gravelly one. The coarse stones that comprise this rocky road are the army of River City High boys who will risk their physical well-being in the interest of Cyndi’s captor “Slick,” for some reason. There isn’t anything fancy regarding Alex/Ryan’s combat that transcends the customary punching and kicking of melee fighting. Alex can pick up a weapon, ranging from chains, plywood boards, and brass knuckles, to other miscellaneous objects like trash cans scattered around the city. When Alex knocks a goon on his ass, he can hoist him over his head and smash him into his compadres to kill two birds with one stone. If that prospect sounds silly, it’s a segway into discussing one of River City Ransom’s greatest merits. Between the dirty thugs beating each other senselessly is an unexpectedly playful way of presenting it. River City Ransom has a buoyant expressiveness with its combat that surpasses the graphical capabilities of standard 8-bit pixel art. Slick’s cronies genuinely look like Alex knocks the wind out of them when stricken, which kind of looks like the face the blue fish makes when he gets a whiff of Spongebob’s rancid breath in the “Something Smells” episode. None of them need to express their pain with the interjections that pop up below the screen, most notably “BARF!,” but it's another nifty way of giving the combat a little more personality. Also, causing these street rats grievous injury is satisfying in other ways rather than seeing their exaggerated expressions. Landing a hit on any of the enemies tends to have inexact outcomes because the enemies often block Alex’s blows with swift, defensive maneuvers. Because enemy AI is surprisingly adept for the NES era, this forces the player to practice alternating between punching and kicking to the point of rapid proficiency.

Alex’s road to rescuing his girlfriend is as long as it is exhausting. Given that his journey begins at the entrance of his high school and all of his adversaries attend the high school in another district, he probably won’t be home in time for dinner. The breadth of the riverside cityscape in River City Ransom is arguably a greater point of innovation than its vibrant graphics. The trajectory between Alex’s school and the dastardly River City High barely deviates from a lengthy straightaway trek, with a few notable destinations off to the side such as a few parks. Still, one has to consider how video game levels were typically rendered during this simpler era of the medium. Progression for the majority of games on the NES was spliced into levels with no cohesion between the transitions. Any screen passed on River City Ransom’s map can be revisited at any point, albeit inconveniently on foot without any quicker traveling method. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but this cohesive world design in this type of urban environment is the closest an NES game has come to being a progenitor of the open-world genre that Grand Theft Auto would eventually serve as its definitive architect. Considering that Grand Theft Auto hadn’t laid out the schematics of the genre properly until three gaming generations onward, seeing an NES game provide the bare essentials of the ambitious genre’s core tenets competently is fairly impressive.

Across the narrow course to Alex’s goal are a few other more conspicuous destinations. After traversing through a slew of streets, Alex will stumble across a bustling city block filled with innocuous townsfolk instead of rampaging River City High boneheads. These lovely little metropolitan areas sandwiched in between the map are not only respite areas for Alex to briefly rest his weary head. If Alex is knocked unconscious after withstanding too many body blows, the last metropolitan area he visited will serve as a checkpoint. See, other NES developers? You don’t have to be so stingy with your game over penalties! To stave off even needing these sections as safety nets in the first place, they also provide a smattering of wares alongside the strip malls. Alex can sit down at a restaurant to order several food items to restore his health, and the eclectic choice of cuisines gives the impression that River City is the refined, foody brand of a modern metropolitan area. Alex certainly looks grateful for his home’s sophisticated palette, but I’m sure all of the restaurant employees wished that he wasn’t so eager to eat that he carelessly gulps down the plate along with the food. Besides consuming fuel for his body, these areas also offer Alex the option of providing sustenance for his mind at the library. Alex can check out a few books and read them at his own pace in the pause menu. Digesting the pages within will unlock fresh variations to Alex’s moves, including a speedier attack frequency and an airborne somersault to supplement the abysmal jumping controls.

However, the features included in these rest stops all cost a pretty penny, and that’s relevant to River City Ransom’s biggest issue. Obviously, I don’t expect these businesses to treat Alex like a charity case for the noble cause of saving a teenage girl from a band of hooligans. Still, the chump change that falls out of these hooligan’s pockets is the only source of income in the game. It comes in varying quantities, but never enough to cover the steep expenses with some of the necessary items. There is no other means of earning coinage in the game besides shaking it out of enemies. I forgot to mention that even if the player masterfully evades all damage, they’ll still have to shovel food into Alex’s mouth. Their caloric properties will also maximize his base stats such as health, offense, defense, speed, etc. The beefier thugs located near the perimeter of River City High that brutally tag team Alex before he has time to catch his breath aren’t the only reason not to neglect to upgrade his stats. In order to gain passage through the pearly gates of River City High, Alex has to defeat three major bosses beforehand. These bosses only show their faces if Alex has vanquished all of the lower-level grunts on the screen, so each moment of the game is a mix of guesswork and endurance. I also glossed over the fact that the total sum of Alex’s money is halved as a demerit for dying. With Alex unable to conserve his energy by avoiding combat because there might be a boss lurking in the grass, overwhelming Alex and knocking him unconscious is a constant. River City Ransom is ensnared in a catch-22 situation where the player needs to fight to eat, but fighting also necessitates the need to eat. Sometimes, the portion of food needed to remain healthy cannot be afforded because of constantly buying smaller ones to prevent the game from pickpocketing Alex’s wallet upon his demise. As admirable as integrating RPG elements into the beat ‘em up genre is, especially for the NES era, I can’t beam with excitement over the richer gameplay mechanics because their ambitions boil down to a painstaking grinding session to afford progression.

I thought I enjoyed River City Ransom for the punk rock scuzz that emits from its pores, which still holds truth. Beyond that, I’ve discovered that River City Ransom is still superior to Double Dragon and other NES beat ‘em ups of the same ilk because it showcases an evolution of the genre. River City Ransom is not a game content with offering short-term goals, bland presentation, or having the player simply infer that they’re getting stronger by beating the levels. River City Ransom expands on the base foundation of the beat ‘em up across every facet of the genre. It’s bigger and bolder, but that’s also to its detriment. Still, this isn't a case of River City Ransom shooting for something out of its league on a primitive piece of hardware. Reworking the currency system could’ve been a feasible task, and doing so probably would’ve made River City Ransom a household name alongside Nintendo’s titles in the history books. Still, even with a gigantic, glaring flaw, River City Ransom is still better than all of the practical beat 'em-ups on the NES.

Wednesday, April 24, 2024

Yakuza 0 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/10/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


Yakuza 0

Developer: Ryu Ga Gotoku

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): Open-World, Beat Em' Up

Platforms: PS4, PS3, PC, Xbox One

Release Date: March 12, 2015


I had no idea what to expect from Yakuza 0. Then again, I’d be willing to bet that a sizeable number of us yanks over in the Western hemisphere also couldn’t anticipate the content of Yakuza 0 when it shipped out overseas two years after its initial release in 2015. The long-running franchise already had an impressive tenure as one of Sega’s exemplary new IPs by the mid-2010s, created after their glorious reign as a console war contender tragically crumbled with the Dreamcast. However, Yakuza’s role in maintaining Sega’s relevance as a humble game developer seemed to only gain traction in their native Japan. This lack of international interest or awareness in Yakuza is probably the reason why it took two whole years for Sega to publish Yakuza 0 outside of Japan in the first place. In fact, Japanese gamers were so seasoned with the series at this point that it behooved Sega to craft a prequel story taking place before the sequential events detailed over the course of five Yakuza titles, hence the “zero” in the title that signifies its primeval placement in Yakuza’s chronology. While Yakuza veterans should ideally be intrigued in witnessing how the characters they’ve come to know (and love?) received their proverbial spots in their amateurish younger days, Yakuza 0 is also a serendipitous title to play for new players such as me to get acquainted with the franchise because the story events occur the earliest in the series timeline. However, plenty of Yakuza fans do not advise diving into the Yakuza series from the Yakuza 0 end despite its convenient, spoiler-free position in the series. There’s a reason why Yakuza 0 was the game that finally reverberated the series' notoriety around the globe, for it’s deemed to be the peak of the franchise in terms of narrative, gameplay, and character conceptualization. I will fully trust the reasoning behind the warnings of those with more experience than I do, but it’s far too late now. I don’t doubt that Yakuza 0 is the best game the series offers, for it is one of the most immersive and engaging video games I’ve played in recent memory.

Of course, one thing I naturally expected in Yakuza 0 with contextual clues from its title is that the game would involve the gilded Japanese crime organization in some capacity, so I could reasonably anticipate some gangster shit to be a-brewin'. The first instance of some mob activity in Yakuza 0 takes place on a brisk December evening in the Kamurocho prefecture of Tokyo in 1988, where the mainstay series protagonist, Kazuma Kiryu, is roughing up a civilian who did not pay his dues to the Dojima crime family of which he is affiliated. While we clearly witness that Kiryu only bruised this man to send a message, he then has to explain his actions when the man is found dead with a bullet hole in his head. When the newspapers stamp the man’s murder on the front pages and air its coverage on primetime television outlets with Kiryu pinned as the primary suspect, he ultimately steps down from his position as a grunt within the Yakuza as a preliminary caution to protect his guardian and incarcerated Tojo Clan captain, Shintaro Kazama. All the while, the higher-ups in the Dojima family are working tooth and nail to procure the rights to the coveted “empty lot” located in an unkempt Kamurocho back alley in the interest of bolstering the career of their family patriarch, Sohei Dojima. However, their primary obstacle in achieving this lucrative goal is local real estate magnate, Tetsu Tachibana, and the company of his namesake, who employs Kiryu in his firm to help clear his name of the murder in exchange for his insight and experience as a Yakuza member to use against them. One prevalent sentiment on Yakuza uttered aplenty before I played Yakuza 0 is that the series has a pension for silliness, even at the crux of its narrative regarding the heated acquisition involved with this dinky space that wouldn't even fill the perimeter of a state college dorm room. However, those who snicker at these dignified businessmen making such a big, billion-dollar fuss over a 500- square-foot slab of land have not seen The Sopranos. Potential properties relating to business ventures that seem minuscule from the outside looking in always seem to cause bickering and in-fighting within the mafia syndicate. The results of each civil war power struggle between the families over their capital resources tend to result in catastrophic consequences. If this source of conflict is substantial enough for what is widely considered to be the greatest television series of all time, then why would a mafia-oriented video game series that echoes the same themes be an exception to the rule?

Besides moonlighting as Tachibana’s new and valuable streetwise asset, severing ties from the Yakuza has granted Kiryu an abundance of free time. During the day and in the immediate after-hours of dusk, Kiryu is now free to frolic merrily in Kamurocho like Antoine Doinel through the streets of Paris. Actually, a more apt metaphor for Kiryu’s extensive leisure period is that he’s a turd crapped out from the Tojo Clan’s colon that is now free to swim in the toilet bowl that is Kamurocho. Given that Tokyo is the most populated city in the world, much less in Japan, I’m certain that a wide percentage of its prefectures are charming, safe, and exude that spectacle of city magic better than any metropolitan area in the world. However, one can imagine why an area modeled after Tokyo’s red-light district wouldn’t elicit the same sense of urban whimsy. While Kamurocho’s sleaze and prevailing Yakuza corruption aren’t exactly inviting to tourists who are already experiencing uneasy feelings of culture shock, those who seek a thrilling “city that never sleeps” type of atmosphere from their urban adventures will be satiated by Kamurocho’s tower-to-tower, luminescent neon glow with a full-scaled brightness five times the scale of Time Square in New York City. Kamurocho isn’t for the feeble, faint-of-heart city-goers feeling free enough to twirl themselves around and throw their hat up in the air with reckless abandon. One must constantly take a second glance in every direction to keep cautious of any salacious vagabonds soliciting their bodies or drunken thugs ready to steal your wallet once they’ve knocked you unconscious. One of the city’s more noteworthy residents is a street walker with the nickname “Mr. Shakedown,” a roided-out freak of nature who makes his living by acting as the adult equivalent of a schoolyard bully, frisking everyone for their paychecks instead of some meager lunch money. If he isn’t indicative of Kamurocho’s lawlessness, I don’t know what would serve as a better example. The aura of danger exuding around the entirety of Kamurocho will keep anyone with the will to survive on constant pins and needles. Still, a byproduct of one’s constant alertness is an acquired taste of exhilaration, which is what I always felt while darting around Kamurocho’s alleyways. However, all of Kamurocho’s energetic hustle and bustle is packed together like a can of sardines thanks to the grid-based city design, which makes the layout difficult to commit to memory.

Since Kiryu’s face is frozen to an ultra-serious, ice-cold stoicism, one would think the various vagrants in Kamurocho would give this man a wide berth. The belligerent man who demanded an apology from Kiryu after he accidentally brushed against him nearly turned to stone when Kiryu glared back at him with that sober, stern visage of his. Even though Kiryu carries the demeanor of someone who shan’t be fucked with, this somehow ESPECIALLY paints him as a target for assaults and harassments galore. Groups of delinquents, hooligans, goons, bikers, and every other classification or pejorative term for street gangs uttered by the men of Dragnet and Dirty Harry alike will bumrush Kiryu at the soonest peripheral glance, engaging in the combat portion of the game. It is here with this aspect of Yakuza 0’s gameplay that my preconceived notions that the series was another open-world game cut from the cloth of Grand Theft Auto were proven to be null and void. Instead, Yakuza is an example of a 3D evolution of the beat 'em up genre in the vein of something like River City Ransom. Once the group of street toughs closes in on Kiryu, a fight sequence commences between him and at least a trio of violent scumbags, with crowds of enthralled people accumulating around the scene as a circular ring of inescapability from these bouts. To continue minding Kiryu’s business, he must beat the everloving tar out of his assailants. While the weapons Kiryu can purchase are certainly potent, their ephemeral degradability forces Kiryu to fall back on his fists and kicks to defend himself, and his hand-to-hand combat is divided into three distinct styles. Brawler Style is a balanced martial art with average speed and damage, so it’s ideal for new players who need to acclimatize to the mechanics. Rush Style trades the offensive output of the brawler style for speed, with Kiryu delivering a fury of lightning-fast punches and kicks along with a swifter pace of dodge maneuverability. At the other end of the spectrum, the Beast Style sees Kiryu lumbering around the arena with the wide, upright stance of a pissed-off grizzly bear, brandishing critical heaps of damage to multiple enemies with a brutal clotheslining. I’m sure one will notice that each style also has a distinct and colorfully fiery aura that emanates over Kiryu in battle. This aesthetic flame signifies that Kiryu can execute a “heat move,” a cinematic sequence that dishes out massive amounts of damage to either a single enemy or a whole group. Kiryu can also pick up a blunt object off the street and incorporate it into this deadly super move. The most common miscellaneous items seem to be traffic cones, flag poles, and some poor bastard’s bicycle that Kiryu can completely shatter into pieces over an enemy. Some of these heat moves are situational, and some are inherent reflexes improvised by Kiryu in tight situations. Unlocking the others requires the additional tutelage of the person who inspired Kiryu’s use of each style when Kiryu funnels an exorbitant amount of money into the branching move pool for each style in the menu. The foreign, nomadic hedonist Bacchus will teach Kiryu the ways of the Brawler Style, the street hustler Kamoji for the Rush Style, and Miss Tatsu, the cutest bounty hunter in Tokyo, will have Kiryu reprimand those with outstanding loans using the Beast Style. As diverse as Kiryu’s battle potency is using a roulette of these three styles, the combat of Yakuza 0 admittedly boils down to a combination of two controller buttons along with the occasional grab. The encounters with these gangs are so frequent and trivial that the player is guaranteed to get sick of dealing with them, even avoiding saving save the skin of some defenseless dude writhing on the ground or a potential rape victim because of how the combat wears out its welcome. Still, the flashiness of the combat with the slapstick appeal of the heat moves will amuse the player for quite a while, and at least the mechanics for each of the fighting styles are all buttery smooth and responsive.

After putting these jokers in their place while they grovel for forgiveness, Kiryu can return to his normal trajectory. A salient, pink marker will be jotted on both the map and the radar signifying where Kiryu must travel to further the plot, which will usually involve a slew of lengthy cutscenes followed by a horde of enemies and or a boss with different situations depending on the current circumstances of the story. One of the only instances that leaves Kiryu directionless is the beginning of the second chapter, and the rare lack of a concise objective to dart towards is really a ploy from the developers to subtly highlight the optional substories. Upon walking about Kamurocho’s various places of interest or really any insignificant slice of any sidewalk, a cutscene will periodically ensue that sets up a predicament for one of Kamurocho’s less oppugnant denizens. Once Kiryu’s interest is piqued, he will talk to the person in order to gather more context on this person’s problem and decide whether or not he’d like to aid them in solving it. Technically, there is no tangible reward that comes with engaging with these substories, and they distractingly deviate from the main story by design. Still, any player who glosses over these minor slices of life around Kamurocho is doing themselves a major disservice because the substories are a riot. A few substories are conditional with fulfilling a friendship arc, coinciding with a meter that fills gradually with visitations. These include befriending a man who naively sells non-hallucinogenic cooking mushrooms on dingy street corners to a man with the title “Mr. Libido,” whose inexhaustible sex drive has to be fueled by some kind of photosynthetic process. Sixty substories may seem like an overwhelming amount of content to prolong the Yakuza 0 experience, but each minuscule window into the lives of Kamurocho’s average city dwellers expands the scope of the setting beyond the shallow parameters of a sinful playground wonderfully.

After all, arguably the core ethos of the open-world genre is to vicariously supplement reality with an extravaganza of activities. Even if the substories were left on the cutting room floor of the development, Yakuza 0 would still offer enough distractions from furthering the main plot for hours, even days, of playtime. Every facet of Yakuza 0 is compartmentalized into a comprehensive checklist. If the player is so inclined, they can order every menu item from a smattering of Kamurocho restaurants that restore Kiryu’s health, purchase mystery items from vending machines at random, and rent a room to watch a softcore porn videotape with a selection of thirty different girls. No, there is no interactive masturbation aspect to this sequence, as Kiryu's deep breath when the camera zooms in on a box of tissues when the video ends already breaks the sanctity of character-player interactivity as is. Still, all of these extracurricular outings are only the tip of Yakuza 0’s completionist iceberg, and a plethora of its non-linear diversions from the intended progression are indeed gamified. The amount of minigames featured in Yakuza 0 is so stacked that I’m not sure where to even begin with discussing them. For starters, classic arcade titles like Space Harrier and Out Run are fully playable in two different SEGA HI-TECHLAND arcade buildings, which means the developers have retreated to a blissful, nostalgic alternate universe where they held a monopoly on the video game industry. Other minigames that don’t involve the developers jerking off to their parent company's their glory days are dancing and karaoke, which both integrate rhythm game mechanics to effectively show off an unexpectedly flamboyant and expressive side of Kiryu. Mixing and matching the appropriate build to win the pocket circuit races is far more complicated than expected, and the pre-Tinder relic that is the telephone club sessions are as pulse-pounding as they probably were for anyone trying to get laid in real life back in the 1980s. As fun little larks these minigames are intended to be, one popular topic of discussion among Yakuza fans is which ones they despise. I definitely have my own selection. The batting cages instilled too strict of an error margin, and Shogi/Mahjong was too cerebral to be relegated to a minigame. Really, the notorious pick among the fans of which I’m echoing the contempt just as fervently are the catfights, betting on which scantily-clad tart will beat the other in a wrestling match. Considering that my luck was never in favor of any of the matchups I participated in despite always selecting the girl with the more promising stats, I’m fully convinced that this is one minigame where the odds are totally rigged against the player. I even disliked a number of minigames I mentioned beforehand, but grew to enjoy them as I became accustomed to their mechanics through practice. This learning curve that each minigame presents is a testament to their richness, something that typical minigames rather lack. Each minigame in Yakuza 0 (that isn’t RNG contingent) is impressive enough to hold its own as an individual game separated from the base game it's supporting.

One particular secondary piece of Yakuza 0 side content that I’d classify as a “macro game” is the overarching business side story. While Japan’s economy in the late 1980s was evidently booming to the point where any street commoner would burst with money like a yen pinata when Kiryu smacks them around, the finances gained from fighting were not sufficient enough to maximize his fighting prowess in the menu. To fully endow Kiryu, he must make enough money to qualify for the lofty “Forbes Under 30” bracket. Capitalizing on his new occupational venture as a real estate agent, Kiryu establishes his own subsidiary company with the experienced aid of an older man named Yamanoi. Besides raking in gonzo bucks, the primary objective behind this pursuit is to dethrone the “Five Billionaires” that have a stranglehold on each of Kamurocho’s remunerative enterprises (ie. leisure, electronics, pleasure, gambling, and media). In order to seize Kamurocho’s assets back into the hands of the public, Kiryu must negotiate an asking price for a business in a given area. Once the buildings are purchased, Kiryu siphons the shares from that area’s select billionaire and can finance every individual property to net a higher profit upon subsequent collection cycles. Upon gaining 60% of the shares in a billionaire’s district, they will challenge Kiryu to their forte minigame, and obtaining over 90% of shares results in an all-out brew-ha-ha with the billionaire and their goons for the official title of “area king.” As satisfying as eventually funneling in millions of dollars at the push of a button is, the rinse-and-repeat process of the collections is a rather tedious affair. All the interactivity involved with the collections amounts to a glorified waiting game where Kiryu has to kill ten to fifteen minutes before he can refresh the funds. I suggest completing “Real Estate Royale” in tandem with the substories and minigames, for they’ll provide enough of an entertaining distraction for the player while the cash flow seeps into Kiryu’s possession. Despite its monotonous gameplay, the business arc still isn’t dry and bogged down by complicated business jargon, so it doesn’t clash with the game’s vibrant and campy tone. Kiryu hires on a goddamned chicken as a manager, for fucks sake.

Between eighteen chapters, one would think they’d have plenty of time to complete everything in Kamurocho and still have enough time to sit around Kiryu’s apartment playing Altered Beast on the new Mega Drive game console (but not really). But alas, when chapter two closes with Tachibana panning his hand over a citywide energy blackout to signify he’s not one for the Yakuza to trifle with, chapter three does not begin with Kiryu waking up to a new day. Instead, the following chapter takes the player to a scene at a bourgeois pantheon of a cabaret club where one of the patrons is doing his damndest to ensure that he gets kicked out. The man is promptly ejected from the classy establishment by its manager, who deals with this unruly dickhead in a manner so professional that it receives a standing ovation from the civilized guests. Fans of the Yakuza franchise will recognize this debonair cyclops as Goro Majima, Kiryu’s series-spanning rival. However, Yakuza veterans still might have to squint, for they usually perceive Majima as the chaotic character foil to Kiryu’s moral broodingness: the Joker to his Batman, if you will. The earliest incarnation of Majima is relatively levelheaded, but he’s still no saint. Unlike Kiryu who resigned from the Yakuza, Majima was dishonorably discharged from the Shimano family after refusing to comply with a job where his oath brother, Saejima, massacred eighteen people and is now facing the death penalty for his killing spree. In addition to the torture the Shimano family inflicted on Majima for his defiance, he must serve out his punishment by acting as the manager of the Yakuza-owned Cabaret Grand in Osaka. Sagawa, the Omi Alliance patriarch overseeing Majima at The Grand, sabotages Majima at any instance he makes any leeway out of his unfortunate, purgatorial state of being like the right bastard he is. However, Sagawa suddenly decides to expedite Majima’s sentence to completion if he whacks someone named Makoto Makimura. A desperate Majima accepts the job without hesitation, except that he lets skepticism hinder acquiring his “get out of jail for free” card upon discovering that Makoto isn’t a hard, pipe-hittin’ motherfucker. SHE’S actually a sweet, defenseless blind girl who works as a masseuse. Nevertheless, she’s the target Sagawa wants to be ousted, and judging by how many Yakuza storm her place of work on the same mission as Majima, this girl evidently has more street cred than expected. To ensure that no one compromises his ticket back into the Yakuza, Majima takes Makoto and storms through the Yakuza blockade back to his apartment. As she clutches his leg crying in hysterical terror, Majima unsheathes his blade…as the screen turns to black to begin the next chapter. The thrilling events of chapter four were the point where my investment in Yakuza 0’s story skyrocketed, and I was genuinely disappointed to have the nail-biting climactic point halted by a cliffhanger. All I was concerned about throughout the following section with Kiryu was what decision Majima made!

Yes, as copious as Kiryu’s adventure in Kamurocho is, Yakuza 0 is a tale of two cities where the total content is doubled with the story of another playable protagonist. Yet, the dichotomy is anything but Dickensian. Sotenbori, the entertainment district of Osaka, oozes the same high-octane state of excess and debauchery as its Tokyo counterpart. Another hulking “Mr. Shakedown” figure roams Sotenbori coaxing everyone to hand over their 401k savings. This town’s “Mr. Libido'' is so horny that he is reduced to nothing but his underwear, as if his libidinousness is a raging fever he’ll never sweat off. Much of Sotenbori’s content mirrors that of Kamurocho, but the few distinctive aspects of Majima’s stomping grounds actually make it the favorable setting of the two. For one, Sotenbori’s architectural design is far more accessible. The ritzy district of the north and the narrow residential streets of the south divided by two bridges suspended over the river are vastly less of a chore to navigate and are much easier to map out mentally. The citizens of Sotenbori who aren’t clones of those from Kamurocho arguably make for more amusing substories as well. A few examples of Sotenbori tickling my funny bone include a brash, overbearing middle-aged woman known colloquially as “the obatarian,” who loudly accuses Majima of being a handsy pervert when he chides her for cutting in line at a takoyaki stand. Majima infiltrating a cult to find some woman’s daughter they’ve abducted ends with him rightfully beating its leader’s self-righteous ass into a pulp after stomaching his fabricated, hippy-dippy bullshit to enter their headquarters. His brainwashed followers attempting to treat his wounds with the pseudo-mystical practices he taught them while he breaks his cheerful facade trying to tell them he needs medical attention is comedic writing of its highest caliber. Yet, there are still substories that flip the tonal coin to melodrama just as effectively. The man presumed dead who can’t interact with his family in the park because of the fear that exposing his identity will provoke the wrath of the Yakuza he’s hiding from is truly a tragic story that will make the player feel as if someone started cutting onions around them. Truthfully, I procrastinated with progressing Yakuza 0’s story a little longer during Majima’s chapters so I could hang around Sotenbori a little longer.

Perhaps my apprehensiveness with swapping back to Kamurocho stemmed from Goro Majima himself and less from the city in which he resides? Did I gravitate towards Majima because his face wasn’t stuck at a perpetual scowl which made him naturally more charismatic, or is it because we share a monovision kinship that only so few share? A little from columns A and B, I suppose, but another admirable aspect regarding Majima is that his combat is a smidge more interesting. Instead of aping Kiryu’s trinity of fighting styles, Majima scrounges up three distinctive martial disciplines from muses around Sotenbori. Thug Style learned from the wise sensei Komeki is similar to that of Kiryu’s brawler style in stature, but it’s not afraid to implement some cheap and dirty maneuvers like poking at an enemy’s eyes when the going gets tough. Fei Hu, the weapons dealer who uses a Chinese restaurant as a front, teaches Majima how to use the tools of his (real) trade in combat with the Slugger Style, namely a metallic baseball bat permanently fused to Majima when using this technique. When Majima witnesses a troupe of break-dancing street performers led by Areshi in red, inspiration strikes to transcribe their rhythmic flailing as a fierce offensive maneuver. Somehow, it was a stroke of pure ingenuity. I can’t explain it, but the most unorthodox fighting style with odd flow and acceleration devastates groups of enemies and burly boss fights alike. Goro Majima is the real smooth criminal. In addition to his overall story and setting, Majima’s array of kicking ass is just more interesting than that of the franchise’s principal protagonist.

Majima’s optional business venture is yet another point added to his scoreboard. Given his stellar reputation as the manager at the gilded Cabaret Grand, Majima has enough prestige in Sotenbori’s biggest enterprise to go around. Majima sees a chance to bestow his cabaret business acuity when he witnesses a hapless cabaret club (a smaller version of a full cabaret. It’s confusing.) about to be squished by the slimy tomato that runs the rival Club Mars located around the corner. With his outstanding expertise in the field of classy adult activities, Majima single-handedly becomes the savior of Club Sunshine and their struggling employees, Youda and Yuki-Chan. Beyond quashing the competition that is directly threatening Club Sunshine’s existence, Majima’s cabaret arc extends to defeating the remaining “Five Stars” who own the other planetary/celestial body-themed cabaret clubs around Sotenbori. While Majima’s business seems similar to Kiryu’s because of its arc, the process isn’t simply Majima letting the girls and Youda do their magic and returning to the club to gather the cumulated finances earned. Running Club Sunshine is a legitimate minigame where Majima must proactively attend to the needs of each patron entering the club for the duration of three (in-game) minutes. Majima will need to match the patron’s preferences in regards to the ladies, which coincide with specific statistics like their charm, looks, or ability to talk a blue streak. Depending on the customer-employee compatibility, the guest will either be ecstatically enchanted and toss their money like birdseed. Or, they’ll be outraged, give the girl a harsh tongue-lashing, and leave in a huff. After a number of sessions converting the would-be patrons of the other clubs with Majima’s excellent service, each owner will respond to these transgressions with a cabaret club duel with all-or-nothing stakes. If Majima successfully earns more money and overall customer morale during these duels, the losing club will totally concede their business along with their BILLIONS of dollars in revenue. Club Sunshine will also absorb that club’s platinum hostess into their roster, which Majima can take aside and train by talking to them in a separate minigame. Majima might tease these beautiful girls a bit, but he never aggressively holds them by their hair and calls them a “buchiach” like other fictional mobsters who operate erotic establishments. I’ve been comparing the cabaret business portion to Kiryu’s real estate side project, but Club Sunshine is honestly the greatest minigame Yakuza 0 offers. I spent hours hiking to and from the Sugita Building out of obligation, but I gleefully sunk as much time into Club Sunshine almost purely from enjoyment. Have I inadvertently discovered my secret calling in life?

Despite the distance that spans three regions of Japan, Kamurocho and Sotenbori must somehow converge to validate extending the game’s length with content totally removed from where the game began. This isn’t The Godfather Part II, after all. In order to organically connect Kiryu and Majima’s stories, there first has to be differing degrees of shit hitting the fan for both of our heroes. For Kiryu, the Dojima family obviously becomes indignant upon discovering that Kiryu is actively working against their interests in acquiring the empty lot by fraternizing with their direct competitors. For his perceived double-crossing, the Yakuza mark Kiryu as the target of a city-spanning manhunt, burning down his apartment complex in an obtrusive effort to flush him out. Nishiki, Kiryu’s best friend, and Yakuza oath brother, is so concerned regarding how severe the Yakuza’s torture methods will be once they snatch Kiryu that he takes it upon himself to drive Kiryu out into the wilderness at night in an attempt to shoot him as a means of euthanization. Nishiki’s plan would’ve been more efficient if he told Kiryu to look into the woods and think about the rabbits, but I’ll excuse him for not being adept with classic American literature. Tachibana eventually buys Kiryu’s freedom, but Dojima’s three lieutenants are quite a headstrong bunch. Meanwhile, Majima’s moral compass intrudes and decides to instead house Makoto in a vacant warehouse away from the prying eyes of Sagawa and other Omi Alliance members. Only Makoto’s brawny boss, Wen Hai Lee, is a confidant to Majima’s clandestine affairs. However, seeing Makoto as the daughter he never had, Lee goes to drastic lengths to throw off the Yakuza’s scent to Makoto by staging the killing of another girl in Makoto’s clothing. Majima rejects this crazy scheme, but Lee’s plan is still executed by a psychotic Omi Alliance patriarch named Nishitani. Despite the extraneous efforts done to keep Makoto safe, all of it is compromised when one of Lee’s affiliates finks on him to the Yakuza, and Sagawa plants a car bomb that kills Lee and stops Majima and Makoto from escaping Sotenbori. Before Sagawa executes Majima for his duplicity, yet another man looking for Makoto intervenes and walks off with the girl into the sunset. While I wasn’t as gripped throughout the game’s middle sections as I was in chapter four, at least the stimulating momentum never slows to a crawl at any point afterward.

Besides being pushed beyond their comfort zone by troubling circumstances, unraveling each story’s secrets is really what builds a bridge between Kamurocho and Sotenbori. Tachibana drops a few contextual bombs on the player after the tenth chapter, namely, that Makoto Makimura is the legal proprietor of the empty lot upon unknowingly inheriting it from her grandfather’s passing. The reveal that is bound to be more of a shock is that she’s also Tachibana’s estranged younger sister and that he instituted his real estate corporation (with the help of Kazama in the interest of instilling an obstacle for Dojima procuring the lot) as a barricade preventing the savage Yakuza from harming his sister. His chairman, Mr. Jun Oda, was the “man with the bat tattoo” who sold his sister into sex slavery, an experience that traumatized her to the point of PTSD-addled blindness. That should give you an indication of how impenetrable he is as a roadblock. Once Sera from the Nikkyo Consortium passes her on to Kiryu after taking her from Majima, what would be a cheerful reunion between Tachibana and his sister is halted when Lao Gui, a notorious hitman on Dojima’s payroll and the actual culprit behind the murder Kiryu was framed for, corners Tachibana in the tight corridors of Little Asia. Unfortunately, Kuze’s torture techniques prove fatal for Kiryu’s new boss, and Makoto is tearfully reunited with her brother’s lifeless body. Now, cue Majima’s role in Yakuza 0’s climax as he fails to prevent Makoto from acting on any hasty decisions regarding her brother’s demise. To end her suffering and stop this whole charade, she attempts to sell the lot off to Dojima, but at the price of killing his three lieutenants for brutalizing Tachibana as the dire condition of her negotiation. Of course, Dojima doesn’t forfeit his men and has Lao Gui do away with Makoto with a single shot from his pistol. Makoto miraculously survives due to Japan’s advanced medical care, but this action is the final straw that inclines Kiryu and Majima to confront all the men responsible. Kiryu dukes it out with a newly promoted Captain Shibusawa on a yacht sailing out to sea while Majima faces off against sleazoid Awano and East Asia’s own professional boogeyman, Lao Gui, in the Dojima family headquarters. While all of this violence is ensuing, Sera manages to successfully purchase the lot from Makoto, leaving all the men involved in this whole charade with their tails in between their legs.

What tends to confuse the Yakuza fanbase is the resolution that follows all of this madness. Kiryu decides to rejoin the Dojima clan, while Majima dons his “mad dog of Shimano'' outfit, ushering in an unhinged era of his life familiar to all returning Yakuza fans. Kiryu’s reasons for reverting back to the ranks of the Yakuza are made clear over drinks with Nishiki at Serena, but Majima’s incentive for discarding his respectable persona is lost in the fog. I think these two young men have hit a pivotal point in both of their lives because of the empty lot ordeal and have externalized their experiences differently. They’ve both learned that the organized crime institution where they were both cogs is not an illustrious, venerated lifestyle: it’s a maelstrom of ego-oriented destruction where innocent blood is spilled daily and oathbound bonds mean nothing if it gets in the way of obtaining power and influence. They’ve both been played as fools by bad men, but utilize the lessons they’ve learned with dissimilar approaches. Kiryu has learned that Kamurocho is not balanced on a black-and-white spectrum where the Yakuza are the sole poison to an otherwise spotless society, so his goal is to improve the defective institution that will improve society. Where Kiryu comes out optimistic, Majima now sees things through a nihilistic lens. The Yakuza are now ugly and corrupt to Majima, but the traumatic thing that unscrewed a bolt in his brain was in their treatment of Makoto. To harm something as precious and innocent as Makoto is as sinful as killing a mockingbird, and the fact that Majima was the only man in the interest of protecting someone so lovely and pristine among his peers probably sent him over the edge. In his new outfit, he encounters Makoto with restored sight and asks her current boyfriend if he’ll protect her at all costs. He claims he will, but I don’t think Majima is easily convinced. He believes that honest, good people are a rare breed in this world, and there's no shortage of detestable ones. Since he was played for as a sap constantly as the moral minority, he figured, when in Rome. Kiryu and Majima are similar characters throughout Yakuza 0, but their attitudes expose their character foils at the end.

Yakuza 0 has left me completely exhausted. However, it’s not a state of pained fatigue. You know how it feels to come home after a full, rich day of frivolity? You cannot wait to rest your feet, yet a sense of satisfaction fills your eventual rest. A full, rich day consists of a myriad of actions and pastimes, and that is exactly what the open-world genre sought to emulate in its earliest form. Never have I played any other game in this genre that replicated the extent of the open-world ethos as closely as Yakuza 0 does. Kamurocho and Sotenbori offer so much in the realm of content, whether it be the minigames, substories, business undertakings, and all other facets of its gameplay that the player could potentially sink their teeth into, and time will pass on by without the player being aware of it. And to think that at the helm of all this optional merriment is a story so well written and engaging that calling Yakuza 0 "Japanese Sopranos" wouldn’t be inappropriate. I invested at least a hundred hours into Yakuza 0, more so than the average time to complete the main narrative's events, because I hadn't been this engrossed with a game's world, story, or characters to this extent in years. I realize that what I feel for Yakuza 0 is most likely the peak of elation the series offers and all other titles will not deliver on the same quality standard. Still, how could I not be at least a little curious about how the rest of the series pans out, considering that Yakuza 0 has hooked me like crack cocaine? I yearn to see a grizzled Kiryu in his later years, even if I can't expect to treat all the other titles like a fully-fledged immersion tank. Nothing in the franchise can be its prequel, and not many other open-world games can transcend it either.

Thursday, April 11, 2024

Crash Bandicoot Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/7/2024)













[Image from igdb.com]


Crash Bandicoot

Developer: Naughty Dog

Publisher: SCE

Genre(s): 3D Platformer

Platforms: PS1

Release Date: September 9, 1996


One of the reasons why Sony trounced the once indomitable Nintendo in the console wars from their first attempt is because the PlayStation did not alienate any prospective demographics. As dedicated to their seal of quality standard as Nintendo was and still is, they admittedly get slapped with the stigma of a kiddy company akin to Disney. Because the third dimension allowed video games to depict graphic violence beyond what pixels were ever capable of, Sony capitalized on this market for mature video games when Nintendo was forced to stick to their family-friendly brand. Between the outstanding success of new IPs aimed at adults like Resident Evil and Metal Gear Solid, however, Sony still had to drum up a few franchises that appealed to a younger audience because that vital demographic would’ve easily stuck with their Nintendo standby that offered that kind of accessible content in spades. Sony released a plethora of new age-appropriate IPs to cover their marketing blindspot, but it’s difficult to say if any of these charming, cartoonish characters ever served as their definitive mascot like Mario for Nintendo. Sony learned from Sega’s example not to bet all of their money on sending their finest soldier into battle with Nintendo, for Sonic stumbled and bled out contending with far more than just Mario in Nintendo’s battalion. Even though Sony wisely treated their library as a collective, the closest character that could technically constitute a mascot for the system was Crash Bandicoot: the first of the PlayStation’s properties that was cut from the same platformer cloth that Mario laid out. The Crash Bandicoot trilogy on Sony’s first home console is fondly remembered by the younger demographic of gamers at the time, so Sony must have succeeded in converting at least a sizable fraction of Nintendo’s child consumer base to their console. Still, similarly to Sonic, Crash Bandicoot alone couldn’t have sucked Nintendo dry and stolen the video game console industry for themselves because the first Crash Bandicoot exemplified the roughest qualities of the early 3D era.

Since Crash Bandicoot was devised as a direct competitor with Mario and Sonic, let us examine his mascot material as thoroughly as a judge at a dog show. Upon lifting up and inspecting Crash Bandicoot’s proverbial undercarriage, I find that he’s as exemplary of a mascot breed as his older, iconic adversaries. For those of you who are neither zoologists or are native to Australia, a bandicoot is not a fictional animal like an Ewok or a mogwai. A bandicoot is a real strand of marsupial located down under the equator, even if this particular one was created in a laboratory by a mad scientist. Hence, why Crash has an unnaturally orange skin complexion like a clementine. Bandicoots are also not known to stand upright wearing jeans or sneakers either, but any additional human trinkets applied to Crash’s anthropomorphism aid his mascot stature. Actually, if there is one credit to Crash’s effectiveness as a mascot, it’s that he seems far more human than the representatives for Nintendo and Sega. Obviously, Mario is technically the only human in this equation, but I mean human in the sense of player-character relatability. If Mario is the charming, cherubically whimsical tramp of Chaplin, Sonic the daring thrill-seeker of Keaton, Crash is the blue-collar, exceptionally unexceptional everyman of Harold Lloyd, the uniformly third-place contender among the three comedy legends of the silent film era. Essentially, Crash better embodies the awkward and infallible personhood of a human being. If the fact that Crash doesn’t wear a shirt in his would-be-snappy combination of clothes is any indication, he isn’t afraid of conducting himself in an undignified manner. Once an enemy slights Crash on the field, he dramatically commits to the role by spinning around and uttering his trademark, high-pitched “whoa!” like the fun uncle after being “shot” by their nieces and nephews with a toy gun. Whenever Crash is flattened, eaten, burned, or electrocuted, the humiliation of the death animations is far more lively and detailed than what the exalted Mario and Sonic would allow. Crash blowing himself to bits upon hitting a TNT barrel and seeing nothing but his shoes and eyeballs rain down from the wreckage always tickles me. The whacky, silly tone emanating from Crash Bandicoot’s protagonist and overall presentation will also remind players that Crash Bandicoot, unlike Mario and Sonic, is distinctly American. Santa Monica-based developer Naughty Dog most likely grew up with Warner Bros. iconic Looney Tunes properties and implemented their cartoonish hijinks into their creation to give it a Western flavor of childish lightheartedness. Also, Crash’s spin move where he flails his body like a cyclone is too similar to the idiosyncratic swirling vortex of another Australian animal of the Looney Tunes canon to be a coincidence.

Beyond the tonal influences and the strive to compete with the big boys representing other companies, Crash Bandicoot practically functions as a 3D adaptation of Donkey Kong Country. No, really, the similarities between Crash Bandicoot and Rare’s rendering of another one of Nintendo’s finest platformer series is so uncanny that I’m convinced that Sony sent an undercover spy to the Rare offices to gather information on the development of Donkey Kong 64’s beta testing. For starters, Crash gains extra lives by gathering a hundred of his favorite kinds of fruit, the fictional apple and tangerine hybrid “wumpa fruit” in this instance instead of bananas. Crash’s movement in the overworld map is strictly limited to the narrow trajectory paved for him after completing a level, and the entirety of Crash’s journey takes place across three separate islands. As Crash diverts further from the shores of N. Sanity Beach and the wild, unkempt jungles that surrounded it and the other areas situated on the starting island, the settings will progressively become more tailored towards resembling human civilization. Ancient ruins in the jungle catacombs are one thing, but the areas of the third island encompass the quasi-gothic architecture of Cortex’s laboratory castle at the same pace as when the first DKC gradually became industrialized. Crash even has a disturbingly buxom bandicoot girlfriend that could substitute for Pamela Anderson in a furry version of Baywatch. Unlike her DKC counterpart Candy Kong, she’s the typical damsel in distress instead of a supportive checkpoint aid. Crash Bandicoot is evidently more man than animal compared to Nintendo’s burly, tie-wearing ape, and would probably trade all the wumpa fruit in the world for another knock at Tawna’s boots.

If all of the contextual evidence here doesn’t blast Donkey Kong Country in your face like stepping on a rake, then you obviously have never even glanced at the series from a distance much less played it. Rare probably had to scrap the production of Donkey Kong 64 upon seeing Crash Bandicoot and were forced to reshape it as the collectathon 3D platformer that we all know and harbor mixed feelings towards. Besides Crash existing as another animal outside of the primate family, the game offers plenty of admirably distinctive attributes that keep Nintendo from imposing on the rightful grounds of suing Sony’s asses off. Health in Donkey Kong Country was displayed abstractly using either Donkey Kong or Diddy Kong as a meat shield depending on who was stationed in front, losing the line leader Kong as a penalty for taking damage until the player came across a barrel with the grazed Kong freshly intact. Crash doesn’t tag team with a buddy that shares an equal precedence in terms of gameplay, but a series secondary character still shows up to block the barrage of blows from enemies. When Crash cracks open a crate with the image of a mystical, yet strangely friendly-looking mask on it, the crude illustration comes to life and bursts out of its confinement to levitate above Crash’s shoulder. Aku-Aku, the trust-worthy witch doctor mask, will not only save Crash’s bacon if he mistakenly brushes up too close to an enemy without executing the proper offensive maneuvers but breaking open other crates with Aku-Aku still hovering overhead will stack the number of defensive capabilities. By the third chain of Aku-Aku collecting, Crash will wear Aku-Aku on his face and storm the level with a hyperdrive state of invulnerability for around twenty seconds. Aku-Aku’s implementation is admittedly a variation on a health system that DKC already established, but the gratification of earning the invincibility streak as a reward for skillfully dodging obstacles is something that DKC never provided. Ultimately, other instances of Crash Bandicoot’s innovation on its influences lie in its design in the third dimension. With this polygonal advancement, branching paths seen in “N. Sanity Beach” and “Cortex Power” are visibly defined and are more lucidly chosen by the player as opposed to Sonic’s wonky rollercoaster levels. There’s a reason why Crash sprinting away from a boulder in an homage to Raiders of the Lost Ark in “Boulder Dash” is the most indelible image associated with the series, for the perspective of the action running towards the screen as Crash anticipates where to jump and evade at the first reflex, is truly a milestone for the 3D platformer genre.

Another familiar reminder of DKC conjured up in Crash Bandicoot is the brutally swift and consistent difficulty curve. Throughout the game, the player will be wishing for the loud whistle blow of a referee to call in their favor for the same fatal, recurring errors that befall anyone who has played a DKC game. However, all the mismatched mistakes suffered in DKC occur even more frequently in Crash Bandicoot because of the injection of the third dimension into the gameplay. I’d be dead if I decided to make a drinking game revolving around how many times one of Crash’s jumps reverted him off to the side of a platform because of that extra spatial dimension. Euclidean range is not your friend in Crash Bandicoot, but the player is forced to work around it and press their luck because the levels seen from Crash’s side view are more commonplace than proper 3D levels where the camera is pointed at his backside. It doesn’t help matters that Crash seems to execute his jumps stiffly because of the controls, feeling as if his bones are brittle on top of lacking a sense of confidence in his platforming abilities. Which level in the game draws out the most fury and contempt from players? Is it the lack of friction in the rainy tower ascent of the aptly named “Slippery Climb?” Perhaps the endurance test of Sunset Vista, or the array of scorchingly hot pipes in “Heavy Machinery?” For my money, it’s the rickety, broken bridge of “The High Road” that tested my patience the most with the exacting precision found in the game. But really, the worst aspect of continual death in Crash Bandicoot is that the game’s method of accommodating it is equally persnickety. The only way to save the game and plant a firm checkpoint on one’s progress is to complete a minigame unlocked by collecting three tokens with a character’s face on them found in each level. The issue with this stipulation is that it isn't guaranteed that the player will succeed in getting to the end of these sections, especially since a narrow bar of steel boxes suspended in the air is the only ground Crash has to walk upon. If the player fails to meet this standard, exhausting every life will drop them all the way back to the beginning of the game. Making the player earn what should be a requisite feature through a challenge outside of the primary objective isn’t any less cruel than simply not offering any continues in the first place.

Again, the DKC connections grow starker regarding Crash Bandicoot’s boss battles. If there is any aspect to the first DKC game that is brazenly half-assed, it’s a collective of tepid and uninspired boss battles that should’ve served as mighty climaxes to their slew of levels preceding them. Conquering Crash Bandicoot’s baddies proves to be just as effortless, but I’d be hard-pressed to label them as uninspired. Occasionally situated between the platforming levels on the map are the boss encounters to alternate the pace of gameplay. Like all of Bugs Bunny’s opponents in his disproportionate battle of wits, Crash’s enemies are an eclectic batch of animals with distinguished personalities. There’s the portly tribesman Papu Papu, the vain, steroid-freak Koala Kong, Tommy Gun-toting, Al Capone wannabe Pinstripe Potoroo, and the straight jacket-detained Ripper Roo who is as insane in the membrane as B-Real after twenty hits from the bong. Of course, the personality of all these foes stems solely from their designs, as they never utter a word and will take maybe a minute to overcome. The scientific duo of Dr. Cortex and his assistant N. Brio does not pose much of a threat either, not even when N. Brio drinks a chemical concoction that turns him into The Hulk as a last-ditch effort to crush Crash. The bosses in Crash Bandicoot are at least memorable and varied unlike those from the first DKC game, but that bar is sunk to the fucking sea level.

In the extensive laundry list of comparisons to DKC, Crash Bandicoot also features a few secrets hidden under its sleeves that will unlock the full extent of its content. However, the way in which Crash Bandicoot conducts the methods of uncovering all of its extraneous rewards is entirely its own. I’m sure the player will come across a screen after completing a level that sees Crash being reprimanded for missing a number of boxes, pummeling him with the literal weight of his failures to the point of total humiliation. A supplementary completionist task that Crash Bandicoot presents is breaking every single crate in every level, rewarding Crash with a white gem instead of punishing him with a throttling. Diligently searching every hidden corner of a level is a trying escapade in of itself. Furthermore, a disheartening caveat to some of these completionist tasks is that Crash must destroy every crate and trek to the end of the level without dying. Not depleting at least five lives between the checkpoints in the later levels is hard enough. If the player manages to master Crash Bandicoot to its acme point, the player can engage with the vestibule before fighting Cortex called “The Great Hall.” Here, the fruits (or gems) of Crash’s meticulous labor will serve as platforms that will lead him to the true ending where Crash accomplishes his mission of saving Tawna as well as defeating Cortex, and Tawna shows her gratitude by grabbing up her half-pint boyfriend and planting a passionate smooch on his cheek. Unfortunately, the true ending does not reveal an additional phase to Cortex’s pitiful fight. Considering the herculean efforts needed to unlock something so miniscule, I’d rather save myself the trouble by telling Crash to forget about her and promise him that there are more fish in the sea.

Essentially, Crash Bandicoot is exactly what everyone’s preconceived expectations were for the platformer genre going forward into the third dimension. Crash Bandicoot technically doesn’t predate Super Mario 64 in terms of its international release, but Crash Bandicoot was obviously in development before Nintendo made the golden template for the 3D platformer generation. A loyal and literal translation of the 2D platformer seen in Crash Bandicoot still proves to be exhilarating, with moments of pure platforming brilliance intermingled in that will win over any Nintendo fanboy. However, what Nintendo foresaw for Super Mario 64 that Naughty Dog didn’t was the glaringly rudimentary buffs and scratches involved with the shift of a 2D genre, especially as early as the first year of the Playstation’s lifespan. This is why scrapping the linearity of a traditional 2D Mario game in favor of the open-level design newly granted to the plumber via 3D advancements proved to be far more accommodating for the dimension. Crash Bandicoot, an already grueling and difficult game, is pushed to the limits of sadistic injustice with how many deaths are due to the developer’s inexperience and naivete instead of the player’s genuine platforming skill. Still, one can’t help but be charmed by this goofy Frankenstein creation story filled to the brim with energy and character. With all its faults, Crash Bandicoot is still one of the more interesting of Mario’s (and Donkey Kong in this case) many disciples.

Saturday, April 6, 2024

Donkey Kong Country Returns Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 3/29/2024)













[Image from glitchwave.com]


Donkey Kong Country Returns

Developer: Retro Studios

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: Wii

Release Date: November 21, 2010


It’s amazing how radically society's perception of things can shift over the course of a decade. Approximately ten years before the release of Donkey Kong Country Returns, American developer Retro Studios was signed on by Nintendo to ignite the new generation of Metroid games after the franchise’s long absence, making up for lost time on the Gamecube while its peers had already received the 3D treatment on the N64. Instead of sheer elation that should’ve been warranted from Metroid’s resurrection, the fact that Retro Studios was an amateur developer working on Metroid’s 3D launch as their debut effort with their ambitious visions for the deferred franchise resembling a first-person shooter petrified all of their fans. Retro Studios were predestined to join the dingy, abysmal ranks with the likes of Jar Jar Binks for ravaging an IP upon its resurfacing, causing fans to wish that Metroid had remained dormant as a faint, but delightful memory. Of course, this collective panic attack was much ado about nothing as Retro Studios astounded fans with what could be argued as Metroid’s finest outing. The fans then had to apologize profusely for the bombardment of death threats, letter bombs, and boxes of fecal matter mailed to their PO Box. Well into the Wii generation later that decade, announcing that Retro Studios were at the helm of Donkey Kong’s third wind of relevancy made Nintendo fans ecstatic just on the fact that Retro Studios were behind the title alone. Did Retro Studios find it fit to reshape Donkey Kong into something the big ape hadn’t tested before like a real-time strategy or survival horror experience? No, but Retro Studios proved with this title that they can also stick to traditions just as masterfully.

Despite the allusion to Donkey Kong's absence the title alludes to, Donkey Kong had still occupied at least an iota of the limelight among Nintendo’s IPs throughout the 2000s decade. No, I’m not referring to his tangential role as a playable character in various Mario sports and racing games. The king of the Kong clan had his own racing game sans Mario, two rhythm games, and an attempt to revitalize Mario and Donkey Kong’s earliest rivalry with the Mario vs. Donkey Kong games. I don’t even know how to classify Donkey Kong Jungle Beat. While Donkey Kong was still cashing checks, it isn’t a stretch to state that Donkey Kong was kind of slumming it throughout this time because none of these titles were all that exemplary (except arguably Jungle Beat, if you’re willing to be patient with its bongo controls). Even though Mario (and Kirby, I guess) is the prime representative for the platformer genre in Nintendo’s catalog, Donkey Kong should’ve been taking the plumber to school in the 2D platformer realm as it was back in the days of the SNES with the “country” moniker attached. Perhaps Nintendo had finally moved on after feeling jilted when that hussy Rare ran off with Microsoft (and a lot of good that decision did them!) and decided that Retro Studios was a sufficient surrogate as an overseas subsidiary developer once they overcame their trauma of losing the original creators of the DKC trilogy on the SNES. Donkey Kong never faded from the spotlight, but the emphasis on the “country” portion of the title signified that he was ready to continue his reign as a viable contender in the celebrated ranks of Nintendo IPs.

Almost fifteen years later, Donkey Kong still has his priorities straightened out. Bananas remain DK’s ultimate source of joy and accomplishment in his unpretentious life in the jungle (the eponymous country if you will). For someone who lives a life of humdrum leisure eating bananas, Donkey Kong sure has a lot of enemies who know exactly how to hurt him. For once, it isn’t that meddlesome Kremling king King K. Rool causing a raucous, succeeding his pirate and mad scientist schtick with another getup gimmick. In DKC Returns, the new villains are a sentient tribe of masks that emerged from a volcano eruption on the island. These masks are adept with the power of persuasion, hypnotizing the animals of the jungle when their eyes turn into spirals. It attempts to sway Donkey Kong into its animal puppet army, but the same method proves ineffective against him. I don’t think the developers are suggesting that Donkey Kong possesses some kind of strong, heroic mental fortitude here; rather, he should be fortunate he’s a strapping lug because there isn’t much going on upstairs. Donkey Kong’s main passion in life are just bananas after all, which the Tiki Tak Tribe recognizes and steals his banana hoard to slight the big ape. Because Donkey Kong naturally isn’t going to let these bodiless pieces of wood and fabric usurp his life’s work from under him, he now must spring into action and take back what is rightfully his…again. Even though King K. Rool’s kremling minions have already spurned Donkey Kong in this manner before, I’ll allow it to be repeated again because there is no other franchise in gaming where this silly premise could cause genuine plot conflict and make sense.

Judging from the first few seconds of gameplay in DKC Returns, Retro Studios has established some core idiosyncrasies for the big ape’s subseries. Donkey Kong Country is a 2D platformer resembling the Mario series design construct of surviving the steep platforming challenges until they eventually reach a goalline. The “country” is divided into six to eight “worlds” with a boss at the end, and secrets to uncover at possibly every step of each level. Obviously, all of these gameplay facets are carried over from the original SNES trilogy. Still, the developers transporting all of these for their own creative project cement a staunch formula that gives any Donkey Kong game with the “country” label a definitive identity. However, Retro Studios found it vital to give Donkey Kong the utmost precedence that he ever had before. Ironically enough, Donkey Kong was never the focal point of Donkey Kong Country throughout the SNES trilogy. He was predominantly featured as a playable character in the first game, a “distressed dude” (a male damsel in distress, apparently) in the second, and just collected royalties by the third game. Hell, he and Diddy Kong shared an equal stake in gameplay as the player could theoretically complete the game with just Diddy without breaking a barrel to revive Donkey Kong. As absurd as it sounds, Retro Studios' biggest effort to go against the grain of Donkey Kong Country tradition is placing the titular character front and center for once.

Because Donkey Kong isn’t divvying up the weight of the franchise anymore, Retro Studios has given him a new arrangement of maneuvers to supersede the standard jumping and rolling that all Kongs can execute. Donkey Kong can now use his signature ground slap move from Super Smash Bros. to either shake enemies off the ground right side up onto their heads or daze them with its thunderous, rhythmic fury. Borrowing a move that another franchise made synonymous with Donkey Kong is a no-brainer, but I still can’t fathom how the developers thought gingerly blowing on objects to either douse flames or power wind-related contraptions would be appropriate for the lumbering gorilla. An example of the duality of the character? Who knows. Still, regardless of whether or not Donkey Kong is channeling primal aggression or odd gentleness, the multifaceted maneuvers will remind everyone that Donkey Kong Country Returns is indeed a Wii game because they are all triggered by wiggling the Wiimote while it’s being held horizontally. Because the maneuvers only require straightforward kinetic involvement, I do not mind the motion controls like some people would. However, shifting the roll move to a motion-controlled swipe of the Wiimote does admittedly make every long jump more unwavering to execute. Considering that Donkey Kong still tends to sink like an anchor when he jumps, the player will have to leap in tandem with this somewhat finicky control scheme. While Donkey Kong is now officially the main character of his own series, Diddy Kong still bursts from the barrels around the field and accompanies Donkey Kong until the player sustains too many hits or clumsily falls off the map. Everything should conjure up nostalgic wonderment for the very first game, except for the fact that Diddy Kong now functions as a glorified upgrade like Aku Aku instead of a playable partner character. Diddy clutches to Donkey Kong’s backside and boosts him over gaps with his jetpack like a furry, simian Clank. Doing Diddy dirty like this leaves a sour taste in my mouth, especially since he has more DKC tenure than the titular Kong. Still, putting Donkey Kong at the helm for this revival entry is more apropos to the “returns” context the game presents and is less likely to confuse new players.

The setting of DKC Returns also reverts back to recalling the first DKC game. At first, the country of Donkey Kong Country was a sprawling selection of pastoral, agrestic lands consisting of humid jungles, snowy mountain peaks, ancient temple grounds, and the coral reefs of the ocean. Later in the game, Industrial factory levels were incorporated into the mix to present a clear juxtaposition of level themes. As the series went forward, the DK clan ventured off beyond the modest confines of Donkey Kong’s backyard to scale the towering masts of pirate ships, cavernous honey hives, and deadly carnival attractions to name a few. DKC 3 even modeled its levels entirely from a defined temperate climate template that directly contrasted the country of the first game. Like Donkey Kong returning to his rightful place as the main protagonist, DKC Returns rewinds all the ground DK’s mates had covered across the original trilogy back to the most familiar of familiar territory. However, how these classic DKC levels are presented is much more organized. DKC Returns consists of eight main worlds, and each of these worlds is defined by an ecological theme seen in the first DKC game. Donkey Kong naturally begins his quest to obtain his banana hoard from his residential district of the jungle, and then progresses to a beach world, forest world, ruins world, to a cave world almost entirely comprised of mine cart levels. The notion of this theming will have half of DKC’s fanbase ecstatic while the other equal portion will gripe profusely like a middle-aged woman whose deli coupon got declined. The developers even incorporated a factory level near the end as if the connection between DKC Returns’s levels and those of the first game wasn’t clear enough already. Regardless of how DKC Returns retreads familiar territory, each level is designed as superbly as the ones from the SNES trilogy. I especially enjoy the galleys commanded by squadrons of crab pirates sailing on the shores of the beach levels for their bombastic presences, and finding hidden three switches across the factory levels to power the path to the world’s boss is an intuitive additional facet of gameplay never seen in the original trilogy.

The persistent reuse of the first DKC’s level themes almost defines DKC Returns as a soft, quasi-3D reboot, almost to a pastiche degree. However, DKC Returns avoids the stark retread label by implementing a smattering of innovations devised by Retro Studios. On top of the series staple minecart sections, DKC Returns supplements the most acquired taste of DKC vehicles by augmenting the rocket barrel seen in one level of DKC 3 into a fully-fledged vehicle that Donkey Kong rides while auto-scrolling through the air. Blasting off the makeshift contraption and dodging the oncoming obstacles like a sillier version of Gradius (sans the bullets) is just as exhilarating as calamitously careening on a set of train tracks. Still, the often hesitant acceleration rate of the rocket might also draw as much ire from the faction of fans who decry the minecart. Something more puzzling Retro Studios have added is the occasional silhouetting of a level, darkening Donkey Kong and his surroundings to the point where only their shadowy outlines and Donkey Kong’s red tie are discernable. I have no idea what prompted this periodic artistic rendering, but the contrast between the dim foreground and the background retaining its color is a pretty cool aesthetic choice in small doses. The familiar four letters in each level that spell out KONG are also newly accompanied by caramel-colored puzzle pieces hidden in the concealed passages and rewards for completing bonus sections of each level. As gratifying as finding these pieces is, the reward of concept art in the menu’s gallery might be deemed unworthy of the effort to collect them. If the player is seeking a more tangible reward for their meticulous platforming and exploration, collecting every KONG letter per world will unlock an additional level that all share a theme of excavating a temple’s inner sanctum. These “K” levels consistently have the most challenging platforming sections the game offers even in the first world, so let the buyer beware. Once the player manages to complete all of the arduous platforming excursions, an endgame addendum will be unlocked in the form of a ninth world called the Golden Temple where Donkey Kong is raptured away to his depiction of Shangri-La where giant fruits make up the platforms. If the player is willing to go the distance and is having trouble finding any of the extras, the DK clan’s ol’ parrot companion Squawks will chirp up on the field if a collectible is nearby. As happy as I am to see Squawks again, his relegation to a purchasable item is quite disheartening as a fan of the original trilogy. Actually, while I’m on the subject, DKC Returns is severely lacking in animal buddies, as Rambi is the only one to return and function the same way he did on the SNES. Were they all bewitched by the Tiki Tak Tribe? What a bunch of maroons.

Even if Squawks refurbished functionality doesn’t appeal to the player, they will most likely be visiting Cranky’s shop in each world where the doddering (and now widowed) OG Kong tells his grandson that he aint shit from his rocking chair anyways. The coins that are commonly found in the levels can be used to buy extra lives, and these lives will most likely be exhausted in a matter of a few levels because DKC Returns proves to match the notoriously steep difficulty of the original trilogy. Jumps will be mismatched, hitboxes will be debated, and objects will come hurtling at Donkey Kong before he has time to react. While DKC Returns will conjure up old frustrations, a mix of hindsight and modern advancements have at least assuaged the old struggle significantly. For one, the consistent bouts of endurance in completing several levels before reaching a save point have been redacted. Completing one level is now enough of an accomplishment to warrant the player taking a breather. I neglected to mention that the life balloons in Cranky’s shop can be bought in bulk for what is a meager amount of coins. I think I can speak for every veteran DKC fan when I say I appreciate Retro Studio’s consideration, but do all of these enhancements render DKC Returns facile and unengaging? Surprisingly, no. Despite all of the nifty perks DKC Returns has added, Retro Studios has still managed to make their creation as strenuous as the SNES titles through painstaking level design. The first instance where I started to sweat was swerving around the sonic sonar blasts of a giant bat on the rocket barrel in the fourth world, and the game never let up from there. Notice how the volcano world in particular resembles the fiery terrors of hell? Well, the constant barrage of obstacles, tight windows of opportunity to hop on platforms, and sporadic minecart sections make this collective of levels arguably more hellish than any of the base game levels from the SNES games. Amid my frustration, I really have to commend Retro Studios for achieving this difficulty curve organically.

However, if there is one aspect of the original Donkey Kong Country that this revival title does not carry over is the ease of the boss battles. All cocky veteran players who think the bosses will be inadvertent sources of respite as they were in the first game are in for a rude awakening. From the stampeding Mugly and its advanced breed Thugly, the great train chase of Mole Miner Max, to the crabby trio of the Scurvy Crew, every world’s boss battle requires a considerable amount of consideration and even memorization to defeat. The automaton mech of Colonel Pluck will especially catch the player off guard once he suddenly scurries erratically after stomping around the arena. Once Donkey Kong delivers the final blow to the boss, the mask possessing them will reveal itself in a defeated daze. Donkey Kong will rid its manipulative presence from the animal host by launching the menace up in the sky with a fierce uppercut. The one exception to the laughably breezy batch of lame boss battles in the first DKC game was the final boss of King. K Rool, tripping up many players' sense of relief upon his defeat with a fake scroll of credits. The spiritual, vengeful mask demon that the Tiki Tak Tribe resurrects for the final boss does not pull any dastardly tricks to the same extent, but it is still wise to keep Donkey Kong on his toes for a formidable fight that will require swift reaction time before Donkey Kong delivers the final blow by punching the moon at the apex of the volcano temple. Overall, not only do these varied and stimulating boss battles undoubtedly best those from the first game, but they manage to be the greatest bunch of baddies across the entire series.

As simple and direct as the title ”Donkey Kong Country Returns” is, there couldn’t have been a more apt one for this game. The effort of Retro Studios to revive the big ape’s relevance with the subseries that elevated his dominion in Nintendo’s esteemed library of IPs past his historical role as proto-Mario’s nemesis in the early 1980s more than rivals the quality of the exemplary trilogy on the SNES. With a new developer's fresh perspective and generations of hindsight, since Donkey Kong was rendered in the 2D platformer format, DKC Returns will please every old fan who has been waiting with bated breath for another chance to traverse through the charming and intense world that Donkey Kong resides in. A few notable changes will have returning players scratching their heads, but they do not adulterate the base of a DKC game too drastically. The kongmeister is back, baby, and has made his return with flying colors.

Sunday, March 31, 2024

Metroid II: Return of Samus Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 3/22/2024)













[Image from igdb.com]


Metroid II: Return of Samus

Developer: Nintendo

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Action-Adventure

Platforms: Gameboy

Release Date: November 1, 1991


Metroid’s debut on the NES possessed plenty of unique and admirable elements, hence why it has influenced countless subsequent video games since its release. However, I grant the first Metroid game much less clemency than its fellow Nintendo icons during their freshmen years because navigating through the hostile hedge maze of an alien planet was too absurdly rigorous a task while being rendered in 8-bit graphics. It’s a brilliant idea whose execution in this vestigial era of gaming couldn’t possibly have been feasible, which is probably what inspired so many imitators to replicate its design philosophy when the gaming hardware could emulate it effectively. Because I’m already adamantly critical of a Metroid game on the NES, you can imagine why I’ve avoided its sequel on the original Gameboy like the plague. If Metroid on the NES is aggravatingly primitive as is, imagine how it would be downscaled on a handheld. It’s something I’ve shuttered to comprehend for some time now. However, Metroid II: Return of Samus on the original Gameboy is still an essential piece of the franchise’s evolutionary history, so I feel obligated not to eschew it from my gaming repertoire. Upon playing a game akin to eating my Brussels sprouts, I was surprised to find more positive aspects of Metroid II than I initially anticipated. Do these additions and rearrangements make Metroid II more pleasant than its console predecessor? Uh…

As detailed in the game’s manual, Metroid II is a direct sequel to the original Metroid in that its narrative follows the events of the first game when Samus defeated Mother Brain on Zebes. Now, the Galactic Federation is taking the fight to the metroid’s home planet of SR388 to exterminate the intergalactic parasites, ensuring that the dastardly Space Pirates will never harness their deadly biological properties ever again. However, upon storming the hive, an entire fleet of Federation mercenaries goes missing. Evidently, not even a gang of men can be relied on to do a woman’s job, so the Federation assigns Samus the intrepid mission of causing the metroid’s abrupt extinction. Future Metroid games would utilize the premise of invading an enemy hive as a climactic point, but Metroid II revels in the thrill of infiltration for the duration of the game. Because entering the heart of the threat is more of an intimate attack, Metroid II immediately raises the stakes of the narrative compared to the previous game.

The first Metroid certainly portrayed the dim nothingness of space effectively with its blank, black backgrounds setting the scene, whether it was an intentional artistic display from the developers or an inadvertent advantage of the NES’s primitiveness. At least the unseeable abyss of the backgrounds was contrasted with a pleasantly diverse color palette that gave the foregrounds their discernibility. Little known fact about the original Gameboy model, the handheld was so rudimentary that it could not support colors, so every game was rendered in stark black and white like the golden age of Hollywood. While the lack of colorization wouldn’t necessarily impact a Mario or Zelda game on the go, Metroid suffers completely. Contrasting a completely black background with white amongst grainy shades of more black turns any game into a graphical slurry thick as pea soup. Some later versions of Metroid II provide color where the foreground of SR388 is a cool blue, with Samus sporting her trademark red power suit with tinges of yellow. Still, the improved color scheme is only marginally less monochromatic than its original in black and white or the other version where it is shaded in a blanched, greenish-brown. To compensate for the lack of graphical discernibility, Metroid II’s camera perspective for the player is zoomed in to the point where it feels as if Samus’s body takes up half of the screen. I appreciate the consideration that Samus wouldn’t be sighted as easily from afar in black and white, but it’s a tad too close for my comfort threshold.

Considering that Metroid II couldn’t possibly stand up as a bonafide sequel to the NES Metroid with graphical enhancements, the developers sure did attempt to amend the awkward regression of hardware with several quality-of-life enhancements. Then again, the first Metroid was in desperate need of these enhancements anyway, so they were ultimately still a necessity even if Metroid’s sequel was on the same system. Firstly, the ability to aim Samus’s blaster in more directions than horizontally and vertically is a blessing. With a flexible dexterity that allows Samus to aim downward in the air, Samus is much less vulnerable and will take less unfair damage because the blind spot has been rectified. Acquiring energy tanks and missile upgrades will no longer involve borderline sequence breaking, although the paths to a number of them will sometimes be behind illusory walls like a number of upgrades throughout the games of this era. Most importantly, save stations are strewn aplenty as well as places to replenish health and missile ammunition, mitigating the need for an excruciating grinding session shooting at enemies to stave off dying and reverting all the way back to the beginning (which is now defined as where Samus parks her ship). If the Gameboy could implement a functional save feature, what’s the excuse for the NES rarely offering one? Outside of my general delight that all of these features heightened Metroid II’s accessibility, what surprised me was how many of Metroid’s power-ups made their debut here. The Spider Ball climbs up the coarse terrain of the metroid’s home planet as smoothly as seen in other Metroid iterations, and the same goes for the Spring Ball that jumpstarts Samus in ball form as sprightly as a reflex test. I had no idea that something as dangerous and erratic as the Screwattack could be implemented onto something as fragile and unsophisticated as the Gameboy but nevertheless, Samus is able to spin herself airborne with deadly energy to her heart’s content. The new spazer and plasma beams accompany the returning ice and wave beams, but Metroid II continues the problem from the previous game in that these beams cannot be alternated in an inventory of sorts.

You know what other feature Metroid II continues to omit? In all their wisdom and experience, Nintendo still did not find a map to be an indispensable facet of their exploration-intensive IP with cramped corridors galore and a smattering of secret upgrades. If I were on the decision board, I’d heavily protest. The visually muted depiction of this (literally) uncharted planet is really an insult to injury. Also, to compound how egregious this glaring oversight is, SR388’s world here is at least three times larger than Zebes. Have fun trying not to struggle at every waking moment trying to find your position in relation to where you’re intended to go. While the exclusion of a map is still just as unacceptable, at least SR388 is constructed a bit more prudently than the series of stairs and hallways that was Zebes. SB388 is organized incrementally, meaning that the entirety of one section has to be completed in order to proceed to the next one. Once everything is cleared out, the game gives them an indication to move onward: shaking the map like an earthquake, signifying that another section has been unearthed. Still, not providing a map for this instance renders this neat progression point moot because it’s incredibly unclear where the next area is.

Constantly scrambling to find the next area notwithstanding, how does one progress through the catacombs of the metroid’s home planet? When I stated that Samus’s mission was to eradicate all Metroids from the galaxy, this isn’t merely a narrative catalyst. Forty metroids have hatched from their cocoons like caterpillars and the overarching quest of Metroid II is to eliminate all of them. However, these are not the same jelly-headed brain suckers seen in the first game (and the ones we’ve become familiar with through subsequent titles). The homebound metroid resembles something of an intergalactic hornet, also buzzing around with the aggression of one once they encounter Samus. As Samus continually blasts them to bits, the genome of the metroid species is going to adapt to Samus’s opposition, scrolling down the letters of the Greek alphabet for categorization. The Zeta and Omega metroids that Samus will eventually be forced to contend with will look gnarlier, uncategorizable space monsters. However, their formidability will only prove to be an aesthetic evolution as a few missiles will still be the tried and true formula for this “superior” genetic line of metroids as it was for the Alpha and Gamma ones. Defeating them will always be a facile undertaking, but I cannot proclaim relief for the challenge of finding all of these bastards without a map. I can’t even begin to count how many times I’d scour the map frantically if I missed one. Anytime I eventually found the untouched metroid, I always felt my efforts were due to dumb luck.

It isn’t until the final boss against the Metroid Queen that Metroid II offers something on this planet that Samus won’t be able to gun down in a matter of seconds. This monstrous matriarch isn’t the overwhelming endurance test that Mother Brain proved to be, but its retractable head and screen-spanning spike balls it regurgitates is bound to graze many unknowing players. Instead of a spontaneous self-destruct sequence occurring as a falling action, Samus looks behind the remains of the final boss to find an egg on the verge of hatching. Suddenly, a little metroid hatchling in the classic model appears, but it does not approach Samus with the same hostility as the adult ones Samus has been laying waste to. Samus takes the little guy back to her ship at a leisurely pace, and the process of walking this unexpectedly cute and docile baby metroid like a pet is quite gleeful. It almost gives some perspective on how dangerous the metroids really are despite what the narrative has been feeding us. A nature versus nurture argument, or maybe it turns into a monster when its innocence is inevitably lost somehow.

Was it really necessary to put the sequel to Metroid on the Gameboy? Nintendo’s first console overstayed its welcome far past its commercial peak of the late 1980s well into the next generation, so why couldn’t Metroid II have joined its predecessor on the same system? Metroid II would have benefited greatly from being developed on a more reliable and stable piece of hardware because it should by all means be unequivocally better than the first game with all of its successful advancements. However, the opaque, black-and-white graphics, uncomfortable angle of sight, and no map to reference for progression yet again make Metroid II nauseating. At least some of these issues could've been remedied on a home console. The next game in the Metroid series was when the series definitively joined the primetime of gaming royalty, but it’s a shame to think that it potentially could’ve happened three years sooner if a mechanically inferior Nintendo product didn’t mar Metroid II.

River City Ransom Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/13/2024) [Image from glitchwave.com ] River City Ransom Developer: Technos Japan Publisher: Techno...