Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/27/2022)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles

Developer: Sonic Team

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: Genesis/Mega Drive

Release Date: October 18, 1994

*Disclaimer: I don’t normally review compilations, but Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles is the definitive version of the third mainline Sonic game. It is a bundle of Sonic 3 and its companion game/extension Sonic and Knuckles, released a few months after the former. All of the games, including the compilation, were released the same year on the same system, both titles are based on the same level design and story, and the main Sonic 3 game doesn’t feel finished without the Sonic & Knuckles addition. I believe Sega originally intended for the two games, but the game would’ve been too large at Sonic 3’s initial release. Because of all of this, I will sleep soundly tonight, knowing that I’ve covered the quintessential way to experience the third mainline Sonic title.

As I’ve stated countless times, the third entry to any series is the one that signals a sign that it's time to wrap things up. Three sequential games in a series seem like a minuscule number, but looking back at the first game after the third game’s release feels like seeing a middle-aged man’s photos from childhood and being astounded at how he’s grown. The second game is the adolescent wedge in between the two other cycles of life that marks the true process of growth, which is why it is usually the exemplary entry in a trilogy of games. The developers have enough leeway to learn about the franchises strengths and weaknesses in its infancy to cultivate it into its full potential upon the first sequel, garnering more critical praise and commercial success as a result. The third entry is made to reap the remaining crumbs of the previous title before its popularity peaks and ties the trilogy of games in a nice little bow. Any fourth entry would have to innovate immensely on all fronts, or else the series would become unnecessarily stagnant. Sega’s mascot franchise Sonic the Hedgehog wasn’t ready for an experimental phase, for the series hadn’t produced anything good with its basic formula to warrant a future title that takes too many risks with Sonic’s foundation. Relax, Sonic fans: I’m only half kidding. Sonic 2 was undoubtedly a vast improvement over the first game, but I’m holding Sonic to high standards after all the shit-talking they spewed about Nintendo to bolster their presence in the gaming world. To quote Omar Little from The Wire: if you come at the king, you better not miss, and Sonic 2 was still missing the polish and accessibility that made Mario the undisputed champion of the gaming medium. One silver lining about the second Sonic title slightly faltering was that the third game had the potential to break the trilogy cycle and triumph as the pinnacle of classic Sonic. To quote a more well-known idiom: the third time’s a charm, and perhaps this was the case for Sonic the Hedgehog.

Before I cover anything pertaining to Sonic 3’s gameplay, I have to immediately address something that almost solidified my case for Sonic 3 being the ultimate classic Sonic title. After introducing the game with the title screen of a more polygonal Sonic wagging his finger at the player, something extraordinary impedes the player from launching right into the action. Do my eyes deceive me, or has Sega promptly implemented a tangible save feature in a Sonic game? Hallelujah! My prayers have been answered! Sonic CD technically saves the player’s progress with the continue option in the menu, but Sonic 3 displays all of the blank data files for the player to prove that they are committed to accommodating the player. Sonic 3’s continue system is similar to Sonic CD's in that losing every life will result in having to continue the game from the first act of the zone the player was extinguished on, with Sonic 3 overtly depicting the zone in question in the save file. Not having this feature was the biggest detriment to Sonic, as forcing the player to restart from the beginning in a game with so many unfair blind spots they’d have to memorize to avoid was cruel. Since Sonic 3 is the classic Sonic title that absolves the player of their failures with more leniency, it automatically stands taller than all the others, right? In theory, yes, but there is a certain inconspicuous caveat. The save feature is the first notable mark of Sonic 3’s wild ambition to expand upon every facet of Sonic’s formula, and the overall execution of their ideas varies.

I suppose Sonic 3 has a more involved story than the previous two games, even if it still involves Sonic stopping Robotnik from mechanizing Mobius along with its entire ecosystem of animals. The story bears the traditional heroic Sonic arc, but the differences lie in how it is presented. Sonic 3 opens with a cutscene of Sonic casually hovering around as his glowing demigod Super Sonic form, skimming the surface water of an unspecified ocean with Tails trailing behind in his red bi-plane. Somehow, with all of the immense invulnerability granted to Super Sonic, his confident stroll is halted abruptly when something strikes him from below, and the seven Chaos Emeralds spill out of Sonic as he reverts back to his standard form. The violent obstruction is Knuckles the Echidna: Sonic’s respected rival/ally in his most primitive form as a secondary villain. He claimed in a future Sonic title that, unlike Sonic, he doesn’t chuckle; he’d rather flex his muscles. We see here that this lyric is a bold-faced lie, as he sinisterly sniggers constantly to convey his villainous role. Robotnik is still the focal point that Sonic must conquer, so Knuckles acts more as a cheeky narrative wildcard, causing Sonic grief at every point possible. Knuckles will often come around a corner to laugh smugly and halt Sonic’s progress by hitting a switch that causes Sonic and Tails to plummet into the level’s depths and other means of inconveniencing our heroic duo. As much as Knuckles seems like a pointless nuisance, it turns out the crux of Sonic 3’s narrative arc revolves around integrating him into the typical Sonic story. This reveal might not be shocking nowadays, with Knuckles being a beloved character with several credits across the franchise, but the reveal that Knuckles is an upstanding fellow who was tricked by Robotnik to get at his coveted Master Emerald is a fairly admirable effort to expand upon the Sonic vs. Robotnik arc we’ve become used to seeing.

Sonic 2 flirted with the idea of offering the player more characters to control rather than just Sonic. In the previous game, Tails was simply a slower Sonic with a brighter color. He filled a special cooperative second-player role, but I’d use the word “player” tentatively because the second player constantly struggled to keep up with Sonic zooming around each zone like a fly buzzing around a room. The second player’s control of Tails’ biplane in Sky Zone didn’t even need any sort of piloting skill to keep Sonic from tumbling out of the stratosphere to his death. Sonic 3 sees the same dynamic between Sonic and his golden boy wonder, guaranteeing that the little brother will still be put to work whenever Robotnik exhibits one of his new dangerous toys at the end of every zone. In a single-player setting, however, allowing Tails to fly totally separates him from the speedy blue hedgehog he follows around like a retriever. By holding down the jump button, Tails will soar off the ground and continue to fly upward until he hits a wall or comes into contact with a hazardous obstacle. Because Tails’ new unique ability does not tether him to the same earthly confines as Sonic, playing as him is a makeshift easy mode. Conversely, playing as Knuckles is more difficult than either Sonic or Tails because he lacks Sonic’s speed and his gliding move does not allow him to ascend over normal boundaries as easily as Tails. Knuckles can climb up walls and break through specific rocky barriers, and these special attributes are enough to traverse through any of the levels. Some may argue that playing as other characters whose abilities aren’t focused on speed distracts from the core of the gameplay. I’d say that the speed initiative for Sonic is questionable and that the true appeal of Sonic is the layered level design with parallel paths all leading to the same goal. With multiple characters that have to approach the layout differently, a veneer of depth is added to how the player can execute their desired trajectory through the game’s level.

There are still plenty of new surprises for the blue blur despite Sonic 3’s implications that adding new characters means that Sega worries that we have grown tired of him. Other than his slightly revamped posture and a more personable smirk on his face when he’s in an idle position, Sonic 3’s contribution to furthering the evolution of Sonic’s gameplay is the addition of elemental shields. These spherical globs that encapsulate Sonic like a hamster ball and grant him one extra hit without his rings spilling out have always been situated alongside ring canisters. Now, three different types of shields literally protect Sonic from the elements with other special properties as well. The fire shield propels Sonic further in a fiery blast, functioning as a long jump or attack. The electric shield magnetizes the rings in Sonic’s vicinity to come toward him, allowing him to execute an extra upward leap. Lastly, the bubble shield bounces Sonic downward as a pile-driving move. The inside also acts as a portable oxygen tank that lets Sonic traverse underwater without needing to stop and breathe the air bubbles that rise from the sea floor. Boy, would this have been handy in Labyrinth Zone. Then again, that’s why evolution across a franchise of games is imperative to its longevity. Overall, the elemental shields do not innovate to the extent of the inclusion of the spin dash in Sonic 2. Still, perhaps that’s not a fair comparison considering the advent of the spin dash was like the equivalent of finding the cure for polio. They are an adequate addition that does not overflow Sonic’s gameplay to the point of blowing it out of proportion.

Speaking of proportions, Sonic 3 needed to consult a design dietician to work out the portion control for each level. The unfortunate reason why the developers implemented a save system is due to the inflated length of each level. A timer that counts up like a stopwatch is present in the previous two Sonic titles, but I bet some of you didn’t know that the maximum time given to the player is a solid ten minutes. If the player fails to complete the level in time, Sonic will die as if he’s been hit, and the player will be forced to restart the level. The player didn’t have to worry in the previous two games because they would have naturally completed the level by then in ample time. So many levels in Sonic 3 will force the player to run past the five-minute mark, even for experienced players that have memorized the layout. Besides most levels bloating the typical Sonic level design to mammoth-sized dimensions, Sonic 3 is guilty of implementing many obstacles that feel like puzzle sections. We all know that solving a puzzle in a video game, or in general, takes time and brain power to solve efficiently, which is counterintuitive to Sonic’s swift gameplay. After doing some sick snowboarding tricks down a frigid mountain, Ice Cap will have Sonic falling even deeper down a continuously nauseating loop until the player finds a crag to surf on, which will destroy the obstructed path. The second act of Sandopolis has something similar with a series of gutters that gush sand, but the resolution to cease continually sliding downward like a Sisyphean curse is so indirect that it's borderline illusory. Carnival Night, a level that resembles Casino Night if the player took acid and put on an Insane Clown Posse album, implements these spinning barrels whose growing momentum requires the player to treat the controls like a swing. How the player is supposed to figure this out is beyond me, as many have commented that this section was why they quit the game permanently during classic Sonic’s heyday.

Even when the player isn’t forced to rack their brains while the clock is ticking, every single level is filled with multiple pace breakers. Sonic 3 cements Sonic CD even further as a canon classic Sonic title because Sega decided that level gimmicks were the optimal evolutionary trait for Sonic’s levels. The aforementioned Casino Night dings the player with constant pinball orbs, Mushroom Hill has pulleys in which Sonic must pull upward and downward continuously to ascend the stage, and the light beams in Death Egg take far too long to connect Sonic to the right path to be amused by their flashiness. Fatal blindspots that crush Sonic are too numerous to assign to a specific level. Hydrocity Zone tells me that Sega did not learn from their mistake of Labyrinth Zone, for Sonic spends the majority of this level slogging through the water as much as he did in the previous level. Levels feel more constrained as multiple paths seem less abundant, forcing the player to endure the tedium of constantly making Sonic stumble. The only reason none of this is as jarring as it was in the first game is due to all of the other evolved aspects of Sonic’s gameplay, like the spin dash and the continue system.

Another way Sonic 3 necessary augments each level’s run time is by incorporating a boss for every single act. Robotnik would be the sole foe at the end of each zone with a new invention to stamp out Sonic in the previous games, which is still the case. However, a myriad of Robotnik’s robotic creations challenges Sonic to a bout in each first act before Robotnik’s encounter in the zone’s following act. All of these bosses are as easy as they were in the previous two games, and some of them, like the Bowling Spin and the Gapsule are creatively designed. Tails even prove to be useful in the fight against Eggman at the end of Marble Garden Zone by carrying and retrieving Sonic as he jumps on Robotnik mid-flight. The problem with so many boss encounters is that their inclusion at the end of all of these lengthy levels grates on every player’s patience and makes them sweat looking at the time. Bosses like the Stone Guardian and Robotnik at the end of Carnival Night are tedious waiting games, and the latter of the two mentioned caused the first instance when I ran past ten minutes and was penalized.

Fortunately, Sonic 3 extends its suspicious newfound tendency to aid the player with the breeziest method of collecting the Chaos Emeralds and unleashing Super Sonic. Unlike the previous game, special stages must be found by exploring a level and uncovering their locations. The special stages in question for this entry involve Sonic moving on what looks like a chess board with restrictive controls. Sonic must collect every blue ball on the board, and collecting any red ones will expel him from the level. This minigame is comparatively so manageable and not based on sheer luck that I, for the first time ever, collected a Chaos Emerald in Sonic. Hey, I can be proud of my individual achievement, as meager as it might be. For more experienced players, Sonic 3’s special stages allow them to eventually blow through the game in Sonic’s Super Saiyan form at any given opportunity. Sure, they’ll have to wait for Hydrocity to do this, unlike the first level in Sonic 2, but the ease of the special stages is comparatively relieving. Unfortunately, they’ll still have to beat Robotnik fair and square with no rings with the final boss in his parody-sanctioned Death Egg fortress.

Surprisingly, Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (and Knuckles) makes me appreciate Sonic 2 more and has me reconsidering the trilogy dynamic from which I thought the classic Sonic games diverted. Sonic 2’s imperfections, such as not supplying a save feature and implementing Tails as a clunkier clone of Sonic, have been remedied but at the cost of the fine-tuned gameplay and level design in Sonic 2 that almost made me cherish Sonic. It turns out that Sonic 3 (and Knuckles) falls into the trappings of a third entry so hard that it’s an obvious example of one. Everything in Sonic 3 swells every aspect of Sonic with the constant impediments and endurance test levels, and I should’ve expected it from the get-go. Reverting back to the beginning of the game upon failing in Sonic 2 was excruciating, but I’d take it any day over how Sonic 3 decided to direct the game around their new implementations. Isn’t that ironic?

Crash Team Racing Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/18/2022)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Crash Team Racing

Developer: Naughty Dog

Publisher: Sony Interactive Entertainment

Genre(s): Kart Racer

Platforms: PS1

Release Date: September 30, 1999

Everyone is always trying to beat Mario at his own game. Nintendo’s golden Italian meatball influenced countless of other plucky fictional characters to run and jump on platforms and enemies restricted to a horizontal axis plane. When Nintendo decided it was time to broaden Mario’s horizons by expanding his spatial movement to the third dimension, this revolutionary venture proved to be just as impactful for the plumber. It inspired several old and new IPs to take the same plunge with varying success rates. As much as other platformer series cite Mario as an influence, those who admire Nintendo’s mustachioed mascot also want to surpass him. Somehow, Mario has always managed never to let any of the exorbitant number of franchises that ape his formula lay even a finger on his crown as the king of gaming, much less of the platformer genre. Even if one platformer franchise manages to slip through the cracks and assassinate Mario Julius Caesar style, Mario is a renaissance man with valuable assets in other genres. His racing derivative Mario Kart is arguably the most successful among Mario's several lucrative vocations. Mario’s racing series even dominates the market of the kart genre, a more accessible, outrageous subgenre of the racing game. No other kart racer comes even close to Mario Kart regarding success, evolutionary progress, and the number of titles. However, there was one point in the PS1 era where Naughty Dog’s Crash Bandicoot gave Mario Kart a run for its money.

Already, Crash Bandicoot seems like the perfect franchise for a kart racer. If there is anything that remained consistent with the orange marsupial in his trilogy of 3D platformers on the PS1, it never ceased in its wacky, cartoonish tone. Karts racers, by nature, are goofier and more imaginative than their quasi-realistic racing counterparts, fitting for the plethora of video game characters with less-than-realistic physical attributes in the fantastical realms they reside in. While the case for a Crash Bandicoot kart racer is solid as stone, it’s difficult not to compare the game to Mario Kart and make soaring assumptions about Sony trying to piggyback off of Nintendo and try to extract some kart racing revenue while the money river was still flowing. Crash Bandicoot has always tactfully worn its influences from Sonic, Donkey Kong Country, and Mario on its sleeves, but releasing a kart racer is bound to draw direct comparisons to Mario Kart due to the franchise’s borderline monopoly on the subgenre. However, there is quite a bevy of advantages to unabashedly ripping pages straight from Mario Kart’s handbook. Nintendo can only innovate so much for Mario Kart because a key factor of the franchise's success is accessibility. Because the Crash Bandicoot series has been less inclined to hold the player’s hand, perhaps a Crash kart racer could expand on the aspects of the kart racing subgenre that Mario can’t.

Mario Kart has always been presented very matter-of-factly. Many gamers, myself included, always assumed that the Mario characters partake in kart racing as healthy competition to blow off steam or they’re all the combatants in a Mushroom Kingdom tradition as celebrated and long-standing as the Olympic games. The player is forced to make their own assumptions because the game gives absolutely zero context to what has possessed these characters to blow burning tire smoke in each other’s faces. In Crash Team Racing, that missing context is granted with a reasonably high concept premise. Alien invader and kart enthusiast Nitrous Oxide has arrived on Crash’s planet to flaunt his self-imposed racing credentials. He claims there isn’t a soul alive across the entire solar system that can beat him in a race, and if the select racer from the planet loses to him, he’s going to make like Joni Mitchell and pave the planet into a paradise in the form of a parking lot where he will be its tyrannical leader. The plot sounds silly enough for a Crash game until the player reads into the subtext. An airborne menace named after a noxious gas that plans to industrialize Crash’s world to a comically bleak degree is an on-the-nose ecological message. Providing a premise to a kart racer made for an adequate evolutionary step, but Naughty Dog decided to exceed their expectations with a surprising hint of depth.

Each Mario Kart title offers a grand-Prix mode with four cups of four separate races, with each subsequent cup providing harder tracks to traverse. Racing on each track individually can be done via the versus menu, mainly against one or more human players. Extra modes like the battle mode can also be played to scratch the itch of combat-oriented driving gameplay. Exiting every gameplay mode either upon finishing or quitting the game ultimately circles the player back to the main menu, the calculated hub of the game. Crash Team Racing expands on Mario Kart’s streamlined approach to menu navigation by borrowing from fellow kart racer Diddy Kong Racing, adding a hub world in the single-player campaign fully traversable by driving. Admittedly, the fact that Diddy Kong Racing did it first does diminish the impact of Crash Team Racing including this, but the fact that Mario Kart has never even attempted something like this in the decades it has been the dominant kart racing series slightly elevates any game that includes a traversable hub over it. Driving around the field without the strain of competing against other racers feels liberating, and it can also serve as a practice ground for sharp turns.

In an open environment, the races are coordinated differently than selecting a cup in Mario Kart. Crash Team Racing’s hub is divided into four separate areas, each with four tracks located in every corner. Instead of selecting the area, the game starts the player with the four tracks of N. Sanity Beach, which provides the supposed easiest four tracks in the game. As restricted as this might seem at a first glance, having the player climb up the difficulty ladder instead of picking and choosing a track feels better suited to a game with a story. The player races through each track individually as opposed to racing through the four tracks sequentially in a grand Prix. While only racing on one track at a time might negate the difficulty of accumulating enough points to earn a gold trophy, the game offers more after simply winning the race. Another reason why the kart racer subgenre and Crash Bandicoot are natural soulmates is because, for the last two mainline titles, the player had to race through Crash’s levels on foot with the time relic challenges. The developers, of course, easily transcribed the relic challenges over to Crash Team Racing as the player earns a specifically colored relic based on the amount of time they took to finish driving through three laps on a course, breaking open the multiple time blocks to momentarily freeze the ticking clock for a better score in the process. The other challenge offered is the “CTR” challenge, where the player races against the other characters again, only with the stipulation of collecting the letters C, T, and R scattered around the course. This challenge is kind of lame and pointless as the time relic trials already added a satisfactory enough extra challenge. All the same, completing all of these tasks for a single course feels fulfilling and lets the player become readily acquainted with each course.

As for the tracks themselves, each of them is stripped right from the various levels of the PS1 Crash trilogy. Not literally, of course. The developers don’t expect the players to suspend their disbelief that a race track is located a couple of blocks away from levels like Cold Hard Crash and Slippery Climb, faintly seen from the player’s peripheral visions. Crash Team Racing simply recognizes the series' various level motifs, such as jungles, sewers, laboratories, and icy levels seen across the trilogy, and renders them into racing courses. Not only do the varied themes create a wide array of tracks that feel appropriately Crash Bandicoot, but the track design is equally diverse. Tracks are brimming with the frills of boosters, half pipes, ramps, moving obstacles, and tons of other thrilling attributes synonymous with the kart racer subgenre. Most courses have unique gimmicks that make them discernable, like the submerging ramps in Mystery Caves, the thick mud of Tiny Arena, the ravenous plants that snatch up and chew anything in their vicinity in Papu’s Pyramid, etc. Courses in kart racers should feel as distinctive as the elemental levels from platformer games, and Crash Team Racing nails the selection.

As par for the course, item boxes are strewn across every track situated in a symmetrically-paired line of four or five, separated by only a few meters. Kart racers wouldn’t be the same without a slew of weapons and other advantages to even the playing field, something that would be highly unethical in any realistic racing game. Of course, flinging the various tools that randomly appear after hitting any item box is another liberal helping from Mario Kart. The task at hand here to avoid even more accusations of creative appropriation is masking them with notable Crash Bandicoot properties. Even with the effort to disguise the items from Mario Kart here, it doesn’t take a genius to discern that chemical beakers are bananas, the tracking missiles and bombs are green and red shells, and the Aku Aku/Uka Uka masks act the same as the invincible star power with musical quips accompanying them. Crossing a TNT crate requires more proactive measures to prevent being inconvenienced by an explosion than a fake item box from Mario Kart, but it essentially functions the same. Crash Team Racing innovates on the items through the wumpa fruit crates located alongside the item boxes on the track. Collecting ten of Crash’s go-to snacks and holding that amount without getting hit evolves a weapon and gives it advanced properties. TNT crates become Nitro Crates that explode on impact, red beakers add a rain cloud affliction, etc. Upgraded versions of the items are excellent rewards for maintaining a certain rhythm while on the course.

Actually, the items, whether or not they are evolved, don’t really factor too much while racing. Holding onto a few in a pinch can be useful in a pinch, but the player can’t use them as a crutch to carry them to victory like in Mario Kart. Because the player competes on each track one at a time instead of in a grand Prix, any of the CPUs can potentially win, so bombarding the CPU in first place with an onslaught of items will only aid another CPU dragging behind. The key to success in Crash Team Racing is pure, ferocious speed. Blazing past the competition is a matter of mastering the drift move. Holding down either the L1 or R1 button and pressing the alternate trigger three times in succession will give the player a short boost. Given how much space the player has to drift at a crooked angle matched with how accurate their timing is, the player can rev themselves to the speeds of a cocaine-addled NASCAR driver. Executing this isn’t too tricky, as the drift controls are as tight as a Chinese finger trap. It’s a matter of combining triple boosts to really burn some rubber. The layered secrets planted in inconspicuous routes around the layered courses can accommodate the player’s skill with shortcuts that are hard to reach for any novice player. With impeccable skill, the player can zoom through these courses and seem like a speck of stardust in the eyes of the competing players.

The ease at which the player can become the elusive speed demon in Crash Team Racing also depends on which character they choose. Only one character per campaign can conquer Nitrous Oxide, and they are all displayed working on their karts in a garage like a group of steamy pin-up girls ready to be picked. Crash Bandicoot’s roster may not be as recognizable as Mario Kart’s, but at least every character will register somewhat for anyone who has played each game in the PS1 trilogy. Crash is a requisite for the game. Coco fulfills the role of the token female character like Peach, numerous boss villains like Cortex, N. Gin, and Tiny Tiger, to furry creatures like Pura and Polar. Unlike Mario Kart, selecting your character based on cuteness or your arbitrary affinity for them from the mainline games would be unwise. Each racer has three separate stats: speed, acceleration, and turn. Some characters like Crash are balanced for beginners, while characters like Dingodile are speed savants that turn more rigidly and require more skill to hone effectively. Differentiating characters based on stats is far more complex and interesting than picking a character for superficial reasons, like in Mario Kart. The player may have to be reminded what the character’s relevance is to the series, but they’ll become more familiar with them through their individual driving prowess, which also extends the game’s replay value.

With only one character, Crash Team Racing’s replay value is still prolonged through the numerous unlockables. Another note from Diddy Kong Racing that Crash Team Racing peered over was the inclusion of boss races. Once the player earns every trophy per race in an area, a familiar foe will challenge the player to a race. I'm not sure how the developers decided which Crash bosses would be apex challenges and regular racers, but beating them will unlock the next area with a “boss key.” Their advanced mano a mano race only includes a track the player has already won on, plus the constant flinging of bombs and other items behind them. Once the player accelerates past them, their cackling and trash-talking will only be heard faintly until the player beats them. These boss races themselves are not what makes their inclusion exciting, however. If the player wins a grand Prix with all the races in their area, that boss is available as a racer. Unfortunately, this is not the case for Nitrous Oxide because, apparently, the PS1 engine couldn’t handle his presence on every track. Maybe if the player was manning his kart, he wouldn’t have to gain a cheating head start like a cheeky fucker. Three additional characters on top of the bosses can also be unlocked in other ways, totaling to seven unlockable characters. It gives the player more incentive to keep playing than Mario Kart did.

They’ve always said that a great work of art doesn’t have to be original to be exemplary. Kart racers always carry an apt comparison to Mario Kart, but Nintendo doesn’t own the intellectual rights to any racing game with the premise of a dozen kooky characters pelting each other with shit on the topsy-turvy pavement. The Crash Bandicoot series was destined for kart racing greatness. While it’s obvious that the developers might have scanned over several properties from multiple kart racers, it is anything but a derivative imitation. Crash Team Racing is the racing game’s answer to kart racers, which is why it excels over every kart racer before. It’s as accessible as any other game from the subgenre. Still, the skill ceiling is elevated to the top floor of a skyscraper, allowing the player to perform feats that surpass anything in Mario Kart. The game also benevolently rewards the player for honing their skill with a bounty of unlockables and rewards, something Mario Kart 64 doesn’t. Even though I’m comparing Crash Team Racing to Mario Kart 64, its now-antiquated influence, none of the subsequent Mario Kart games have matched Crash Team Racing’s unique aspects. That is impressive.

Bucky O'Hare Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/15/2022)

[Image by igdb.com]

Bucky O'Hare

Developer: Konami

Publisher: Konami

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: NES

Release Date: January 31, 1992

Bucky O’Hare was a short-lived cartoon series that lived and died in the early 1990s. Three animals, plus a robot and some human kid with glasses, would scour the galaxy disposing of the toad menace that threatens peace and prosperity. At least, this is what I understand is the premise of the cartoon series, for it was released before my time. Bucky O’Hare is a lost relic of an entertainment landscape that is decades old at this point, and surprisingly, I am aware of it because of its video game adaptation on the NES. Normally, a licensed game produced during this era of gaming would’ve been abysmal, perfect fodder for the AVGN to decimate decades onward and imprint its legacy with a shit-colored stamp. However, the guys at Cinemassacre were the ones who recommended Bucky O’Hare as a hidden gem on the gilded NES console with several spectacular games in its library. Out of curiosity on the grounds of their glowing praise, I decided to unearth this gem and see for myself. After all, an obscure treasure from yesteryears that happens to also be a licensed game checks off a good number of my boxes.

Bucky O’Hare is a space cadet and the captain of the S.P.A.C.E. fleet waging war against the oppressive Toad armada reigning terror over the galaxy. On a mission to give the toads what for, the slimy bastards ambush Bucky and his crew. Bucky awakens from the turmoil with his four teammates landing on four separate planets. The air sergeant of the Toad army radios in to inform Bucky that if he doesn’t save his team members in time, they will become his brainwashed servants, licking the warty bootstraps of the imperialistic amphibians. Time really isn’t really of the essence for Bucky, for he gets to choose which planet he ventures to first on the menu. The level selection here will conjure up Mega Man in everyone’s minds, and it’s not surprising to see why. Besides the ability to select any level from the start, the game is a fast-paced 2D platformer and Bucky’s main offensive is a pea shooter gun. The game has met some stern criticism with liberally borrowing from Capcom’s flagship series, but plenty of other games from this era used Mega Man as an influence. Bucky O’Hare discerns itself from its inspiration enough to avoid any serious accusations. That being said, that one section of the Red Planet level is unashamedly copied from Quick Man’s stage in Mega Man 2.

While the appeal of playing as a furry, anthropomorphic animal with an Irish surname in space is exciting (just ask Nintendo), the allure of Bucky O’Hare’s game is extending the roster beyond just Bucky. Instead of acquiring new abilities after completing a level, one member of Bucky’s crew is available as a playable character. Games with multiple playable characters always suckered me in as a kid, explaining some of my nostalgic favorites. Given Castlevania III as an example, I fully understood that featuring a varied character roster was still in a primitive form and might not have been implemented very smoothly compared to the 3D games I grew up playing. Konami, the developers of both Castlevania III and Bucky O’ Hare, learned that transitioning between characters needed to be swift and effortless. That’s why the shift between Bucky and his team is a simple press of the select button, which cycles the characters in milliseconds. I wish the order of changing the characters was more organized and that I didn’t have to scroll through them like flipping through papers, but perhaps I’m asking too much from a game released on the NES. As it is, I’m satisfied that the game offers five total playable characters with unique attributes. Bucky is a relatively balanced character whose special ability is a high leap after holding down the attack button. Bucky is also the only character who can shoot straight up or down. Blinky, the one-eyed robot, shoots at a downward angle, and his pint-sized build allows him to jump through tight spaces easily. He can also propel himself upward with a jetpack and slightly control the trajectory for a short time. Deadeye Duck has a gun similar to the spread from Contra and can climb along surfaces like Grant from Castlevania. Jenny shoots lasers from her forehead and can summon an energy ball that the player only has slight control over. Lastly (or at least the last one that I unlocked), the dorky Willy DuWitt’s blaster does the most damage, especially when charged up like the ability from Mega Man. Having access to an entire posse of characters is one thing, but the fact that all of them have individual assets that contribute to getting through each level is astounding for an NES title. One grievance I have is that the ability to play the four levels in any order is an illusion because of the individualistic attributes of the characters. Blinky is the only character that can break/melt the ice blocks on the Blue Planet, so the player is screwed without him.

Unlike many of its NES and even its 16-bit contemporaries, Bucky O’ Hare does not possess too many primitive, unfair features that mar the pixelated era of gaming and make it inaccessible to a modern audience. The password system is certainly dated, but I’m still giddy at the game giving the player unlimited continues because so many other games didn’t. Bucky O’Hare also divides its levels by acts; if the player loses all of their lives, they get to continue from the start of that act. You know when the game stops and the screen shifts in Mega Man? Imagine those transitions as checkpoints, except with much longer swathes of time in between switching the screen to not make the game too facile. All the while, upgrades are plastered over every act in the shape of floating tokens. Besides the one solidly shaded token that I’m not certain provides anything of value, the others will extend every character’s maximum health until they continue, add extra lives, and upgrade the capacity for a character’s special move. The last one listed only lengthens the special meter for the one character that touches it, but it remains enhanced permanently for the remainder of the game. The developers gave the players a suitable number of potential support items to tackle this game, and it’s a total blessing.

Thank the lord that Bucky O’Hare doesn’t punish the player too severely because if the game adopted an arcade-like disciplinary method, the game would be practically unplayable. My biggest surprise playing Bucky O’ Hare is that the game is practically a precision platformer, a challenging subgenre of the 2D platformer made popular two decades after Bucky O’ Hare was released. Bucky and his gang of mercenaries have the physical constitution of a hemophiliac, as most obstacles in each level will kill them in one hit. Whether it be spikes, pistons, or globs of energy, most collisions will spell imminent death for Bucky and his friends. Each character also jumps at the base height of a white basketball player, so be prepared to tumble into the abyss countless times as well. Seeing the plethora of one-up tokens scattered about is laughable, considering all the players’ lives will burn through each act faster than butane on a bogroll. The player will hear that death jingle so often that it becomes maddening. Taking minimal damage from enemy fire or lasers is comparatively refreshing. The only time the player must concern themselves with the slow degradation of their health instead of collapsing in one hit is the boss battles, who tend to have collision detection pratfalls anyways. I can’t credit Konami as visionaries, even though Bucky O’ Hare predates any other precision platformer by a substantial margin of time. I think it’s just a factor of offering unlimited continues in a platformer that requires extreme attention to accuracy. The player will hanker for more punishment if the game doesn’t strip away their chances by giving them a strict game over. Checkpoints may come with every screen, but getting to those screens is a challenge in itself.

I have not seen the Bucky O’Hare cartoon series, nor have I read the source material of the character that is the comic. However, his only venture into the gaming medium kicks a lot of ass. Bucky O’ Hare is an energetic 2D platformer who borrows a tasteful amount from other games from the same genre without plagiarizing like other licensed games. The character roster is notably diverse, and the player can access plenty of perks to aid them like no other NES game before it. However, Bucky O’ Hare's leniency only sounds appealing on paper. In execution, it’s one of the strictest games I’ve ever played regarding how much rigor it demands from the player. Bucky O’Hare doesn’t deviate from NES difficulty; it changes the definition of it. If constant failure doesn’t sound too disheartening, Bucky O’Hare is a shining example of a 2D platformer on the NES.

Sonic CD Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/10/2022)

[Image from igdb.com]

Sonic CD

Developer: Sonic Team

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: Sega CD (Genesis/Mega Drive)

Release Date: September 23, 1993

As dreadfully executed and embarrassingly cheesy as the Sega CD add-on was, Sega couldn’t resist developing an entry for their gilded blue mascot on the Genesis/Mega Drive’s extension. How on earth would Sonic fare on a system whose games were practically nothing but grainy FMV cutscenes with gameplay so minimal it was like watching a B-movie on a calculator? Would this game consist of a guy dressed up in a Sonic costume doing parkour in some city alleyway? Would this guy beat a maniacally cackling bald man with a porno mustache intended to represent Robotnik, and would there be shitty explosion effects? It sounds like an endearing Youtube video from 2007, with even shoddier visual and audio quality if you can believe it. However, perhaps this is a narrow summation of the Sega CD's capabilities. The extension didn’t need to be bombarded with “games” sporting video cutscenes that would age as well as milk being bathed in the desert sun, but that’s simply what Sega thought would be the future of gaming (they were wrong) with the foresight they had in the early 90s. Physical media in the digital format was still in its infancy when the Sega CD was released, far before CD-based games were the norm. We obviously have decades of insight now to know that digital technology in gaming didn’t have to be devoted to offering tacky cinematics that looks like straight-to-video PSAs they’d show in school and attempt to pass it off as a video game. The CD ROM was an unmistakable mark of gaming progression, with capabilities that superseded the cartridges we were used to. Sega’s precocious choices with this kind of technology could give Sonic the edge to finally conquer his competition at Nintendo, who were still playing it safe with cartridges. Sonic CD was the most ambitious game during the blue hedgehog’s prime, but I’m not certain that the additional technological flair really made a stark difference.

Even though Sonic CD does not fall under the same garish trappings seen in most other games on the Sega CD, Sega still used the quasi-cinematic technology the peripheral provided to some extent. Sonic CD begins with an opening cutscene that details some exposition that formally introduces Sonic’s journey, as opposed to springing the player into action mere seconds after seeing the title screen. Sonic is seen sprinting through a rocky field, and the urgency of the scene is unclear because it’s not as if Sonic has the ability to walk casually at a relaxed pace on his off time. Once Sonic stops to look at the sky, the missing context is given with the looming shadow of Robotnik’s newest creation. Apparently, Robotnik has taken full advantage of the annual presence of a “little planet” that appears over Morbius’s stratosphere. The mad doctor has colonized the celestial body and turned it into a concrete jungle with him and his critter-powered robots as its new residents. Robotnik’s massive influence over Morbius’s orbit strikes Sonic as a bad omen, so he plans to deal with the source of Robotnik’s presence directly by running up the chain, tethering his creation to the ground. Meanwhile, a pink girl hedgehog (Amy Rose in her earliest form) is being held captive by Metal Sonic on the industrial globe. Sonic CD’s opening cinematic is breathtaking, showcasing a blend of anime art stylings that keep up with Sonic’s turbulent speed. I’m now convinced that Sega intentionally inhibited the budget for every other game released on the Sega CD to make damn sure that their precious Sonic outshined them all. The opening of Sonic CD silences all of the Sega CD’s critics by proving the hardware's capabilities. Concerning the graphics of the actual game, Sonic CD looks like a slightly tuned-up version of the visuals from the games on the base Genesis console. The subtle difference on display here gives the visuals a fleshy tint that makes the overall aesthetic look sharper. Backgrounds and foregrounds here are so strikingly detailed that it’s borderline excessive, a testament to the fact that Sega used the Sega CD’s hardware to deliver that bombastic Sonic presentation.

Sonic CD is still a tried and true Sonic title, regardless of the cinematic properties associated with the Sega CD add-on. All of the enhancements Sonic 2 introduced, like the spin dash, have been solidified, translating Sonic’s evolution to a technically superior piece of hardware. As for what Sonic CD brings to expand on that evolution in terms of gameplay, the developers fully realized the Sega CD’s flashier potential and decided to revel in it. Coinciding with the more striking visuals, Sonic’s gameplay has never been so glitzy and filled with kinetic pomp. Palmtree Panic Zone, the opening zone of Sonic CD, separates itself from every previous first Sonic level that touts that tropical valley setting with a few new frills. The roller coaster ramps seen across most Sonic levels have been heightened to the scope of skyscrapers, with a visual twist of the camera focusing behind Sonic while he’s trailing up the towering foundations to highlight their length in the most three-dimensional spectacle the series has seen up to this point. On the same level, Sonic is thrust through the interior crust of the land, and his speedy ejection point is outlined like when a cartoon character bursts through a wall. Collision Chaos Zone has more springs and pinball bumpers than the casino-themed Casino Night Zone from Sonic 2, and the chibi Sonic that sprouts up from the exposure to the shrink ray in Metallic Madness Zone is adorable. These unseen touches are nice, but not all of them are so benign. Wacky Workbench’s design theme involves Sonic having to keep to the bottom of the level and avoid being sprung up to the upper portion, where he’ll meet nothing but dead ends. The problem is that the floating platforms near the bottom levitate from side to side, and landing on them from above takes some luck-based guesswork. The machinations of Stardust Speedway are so enclosed to a certain trajectory that I got Sonic stuck. Metallic Madness is so labyrinthian in design that I got lost trying to make my way to the goal. I repeat: I got lost in a Sonic level. Overall, the added perks of Sonic CD, whether they be amusing or nauseating, amount to nothing but gimmicks.

All of Sonic CD’s level gimmicks take a backseat to its primary new feature: the time warp mechanic. Each level is littered with signposts that either say past or future on them and running at a continuously swift momentum with a blue light tailing behind will transport Sonic to the period stated on the last signpost Sonic came in contact with. Past levels have a much more organic look to them, like Green Hill Zone, while future levels look a grimier Chemical Plant Zone. If the player destroys the Robotnik robot generator found in the past, warping to the future will see a brighter, more optimistic outlook for the level. This gameplay mechanic underlines a pertinent theme that Sonic CD conveys. Seeing the beautiful topological nature of the little planet compared to the present day of Robotnik’s adulteration is a clear distinction that spells out a clear ecological message. Sonic has always been relatively eco-friendly, what with being the savior of Mobius’s fauna being kept in giant capsules. In Sonic CD, there is something more overt with the flowers that pop up after a robot is destroyed like Sonic is expunging Robotnik’s industrial influence with one machine being destroyed at a time. As a game mechanic, warping time is a tad undercooked. The differences in each level’s time mostly correlate to aesthetic changes, as any changes in level layout are only slight. Shifting between periods also seems to be executed by luck, considering the constant obstacles in Sonic’s path guarantee that instances, where he can build up enough speed to time travel, are scarce.

The only instance where the gimmicks aid Sonic CD is with the Robotnik encounters. A commonality between the first and second Sonic games is that fighting Robotnik at the end of every third act was not challenging. All of the schemes Robotnik devised to halt Sonic from ruining his diabolical plans were amusing at best but proved ineffective. In Sonic CD, Robotnik’s attempts are just as ill-fated and poorly conceived, but at least I can give Robotnik an A for effort. Robotnik’s encounters are some of the most creative short boss impediments so far in the series. After chasing Robotnik through the narrow halls of the third act of Tidal Tempest, destroying Robotnik’s hover pod with one spin dash is a matter of depleting his shield, a series of rotating bubbles. Sonic’s only devices in surviving underwater are also Robotnik's, and something is satisfying about Sonic literally sucking away at Robotnik’s defenses. The end of Quartz Quadrant sees Robotnik in an impenetrable piston, but unlike the final bout of the first game, where Sonic must spin on it a dozen times, he must erode it with the friction caused by the stage’s conveyor belt. Robotnik’s fight at the end of Metallic Madness is a multi-staged duel where the player has to memorize the formations his robotic mech shifts into, almost like a formidable boss battle. Key word: almost.

Robotnik only receives points for inventiveness, but luckily, Sonic CD offers a worthy contender. Just last game released only a year prior to Sonic CD, Metal Sonic was in its prototype stage as an ugly tin can that served as a slight barrier before fighting Robotnik for the final time in Sonic 2. In Sonic CD, Metal Sonic has been refurbished with a glowing blue sheen to convey a much stronger resemblance to Sonic, making him a worthy rival instead of a crude imitation. Metal Sonic showcases this equal footing to Sonic in the last act of Stardust Speedway, where a race between flesh and blood Sonic and his metallic counterpart takes place as the level’s boss. The race against Metal Sonic is the most challenging single portion of a Sonic game thus far. Metal Sonic’s innate speed isn’t as fast as Sonic’s, but that energized boost he performs puts him on an equal standing. Spikes are littered all over the course to impede Sonic, and failing to cross the finish line before Metal Sonic will result in Robotnik blasting Sonic with an unavoidable laser that kills Sonic regardless of how many rings he has. Metal Sonic practically takes center stage as the game’s antagonist for this tense moment.

I’d hate the trial-and-error difficulty that factors into the race against Metal Sonic, but Sonic CD is strangely accommodating. Considering my consistent grievance with the previous two Sonic games, one would think that Sonic CD was my clear favorite thus far. Why do I say this? Because the radical technology of the Sega CD has gifted a Sonic title with the ability to continue after dying. Yes, after all of the ribbing I’ve done regarding Sega’s pension for lacking merciful penalties in their games on the Genesis, the system’s “advanced” peripheral finally gives the player some reasonable leeway in regard to failure. I’m fairly relieved at this, but I’m not jumping for joy because the reason for offering continues is not due to Sega going soft on players. The previous Sonic games played with the idea of unlocking a “true” ending, achieved if the player completes all of the special stages and unlocks Super Sonic by grabbing each special stage’s Chaos Emerald. Sonic CD also has special stages where Chaos Emeralds are the reward, and spin jumping on six UFOs is much easier than collecting rings speeding through a halfpipe or being subjected to the rotations of an ephemeral device. Unlike the two previous games, completing the special stages in Sonic CD does not contribute to unlocking the game’s “true ending.” Hell, Super Sonic isn’t even available in Sonic CD. Instead, the player must destroy all of Robotnik’s generators found across each level's past sections. Doing this will unlock the true ending because it will ultimately prevent Robotnik’s industrialization of this floating, organic land mass before it ever happens. Even if the player doesn’t destroy every single generator, the “bad ending” is still sufficient in my book. Sonic saves Amy, and Robotnik’s ties with his new project are severed as it becomes too unstable. Sonic blows his pod to smithereens as he attempts to fly away. The ending screen still shows the planet shackled to the earth, with the text stating “try again” at the bottom, implying that the player failed. I say let the planet sit in the sky as a perpetual eyesore because the qualifications for restoring it to its biotic self are excruciating. Nothing compliments a game revolving around speed like a meticulous scavenger hunt, right? Searching every nook and cranny of the stage is completely counterintuitive to Sonic’s gameplay. The developers implemented continues so the player wouldn’t feel the stress of constraints on their shoulders while finding these, but they never asked themselves if the idea was sound in the first place. Is this really what it takes for Sega to stop treating their games like arcade machines?

The “revolutionary” Sega CD was intended to give Sonic the extra boost missing in his titles on the regular ol’ Genesis console. The only aspect Sonic CD added that proved refreshing was implementing continues, an aspect sorely needed in a Sonic title. Other than that, all the kooky additions tacked on to Sonic CD amount to nothing but snazzy window dressing. They do not add or necessarily detract from the classic Sonic experience, but adding all of these gimmicks when the Sonic series was still developing its stride was not the correct direction for the series. I can’t be all too enthralled about the continue feature as is because its utility is intended for something tedious and laughably inappropriate for Sonic. I should've known this was Sega’s idea of evolution because the company has a history of administering superficial game changes and calling it progress. Sonic CD is a competent title that feels unique and best played by ignoring all of the fetch quest bullshit Sega wants you to adhere to. The most unfortunate matter is that with the advances the game had over all the other Sonic games, its full potential was ultimately squandered.

The World Ends With You Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 12/9/2022)

[Image from igdb.com]

The World Ends With You

Developer: Square Enix, Jupiter Corporation

Publisher: Square Enix

Genre(s): JRPG, Action RPG

Platforms: DS

Release Date: July 27, 2007

For those who do not care for JRPGs, the most common discrepancy these detractors detail is with the fighting system. Besides being developed by a company based in Japan, turn-based combat is the most notable idiosyncrasy of the JRPG genre. The player and their party members will stare down their enemies situated parallel to each other on a still battlefield. A menu is presented to the player to upset the scene’s inertia, usually with the option to attack, use items, or escape when the battle becomes too frantic to handle. After the player makes their selection, the opposing side gets to return the favor immediately, and the player always anticipates the inevitable damage of their retaliation with dread. JRPG nay-sayers claim that this format is an unrealistic way to simulate combat. Not in a million years would any feuding factions out for bloodshed patiently take turns on the offensive. In a way, it’s almost gentlemanly, an ironic twist on the viciousness and brutality of war. As for where I stand on this debate, I find turn-based combat invigorating. Something like carefully strategizing the next move in the heat of battle with a seemingly endless amount of time to act is something that only the gaming medium could effectively display. The turn-based system is relatively accessible for most gamers on a base level, and the defined leveling system grants the player a window of reference for how the difficulty for each scenario is scaled for their character. This aspect tends to be somewhat grind-intensive, but the state of being either overleveled or underleveled for any scenario mostly depends on the player’s skill all the same. The basic principles of turn-based combat also translate well across all JRPGs, cultivating a battle language understood among fans of the genre. While this makes the JRPG game easy to delve into after playing a handful of them, it also makes the genre feel stagnant. Twenty years after Square Enix pioneered the JRPG genre with Final Fantasy and Dragon Warrior, they decided to turn what they created on its head with The World Ends With You: one of the most subversive JRPGS seen in gaming.

High-concept premises are a requisite for the JRPG genre, almost as much as turn-based combat. Concepts involving role-playing usually entail a fantasy element to a certain degree, so why not go the distance and immerse yourself in something extraordinary? It helps that most of these games are developed in Japan, a country notable for conjuring up grandiose stories that forsake realism to the point of verging into biblically absurd territory. The World Ends With You follows suit with a creative premise whose rules exist outside the bounds of reality. Enter Neku: our youthful protagonist who skulks through the congested crossroads of an urban epicenter. His wispy presence in the crowd becomes so incorporeal to the point of being ghostly. Neku panics, but his existence is seemingly resurrected when he clenches onto a pin that mysteriously materializes in his hand. Suddenly, strange, hostile creatures appear along with ominous messages detailing that Neku has seven days to complete an unknown task. He then forms a pact with a girl named Shiki, who seems to be the only person who notices his presence. Their vague directive to complete in a week is then reduced to a mere 60 minutes, and failing to complete this task will result in “erasure,” a harrowing condemnation that Neku and Shiki most likely want to avoid. Immediately, the ambiguity of the scene combined with how urgently the game catapults the characters into the fray is a fantastic way to hook the player and make them interested in uncovering the mystery behind what is occurring.

By 2007, the “domestic JRPG” that Mother and Shin Megami Tensei established to deviate from the high-fantasy tropes in genre mainstays like Final Fantasy and Dragon Quest became almost as pervasive. Out of all the JRPG games set in modern times, The World Ends With You takes the most inspiration from the Persona games. One could make this correlation due to many factors like the Shibuya setting, the teenaged characters, or the juxtaposition between the real world and the fantasy realm, otherworld thinly veiled underneath the surface. Ultimately, The World Ends With You reminds me the most of Persona because the game is oozing with style. The comic book art of The World Ends With You is the crux of the game’s presentation, with characters conversing side by side with dueling speech bubbles between them. Characters, backgrounds, and the bustling streets of Shibuya are outlined so prominently, and the stilted images of the characters move with a certain restraint during conversations and cutscenes to pronounce the graphic novel aesthetic even further. No, the game’s style isn’t ripped from Persona, but what other JRPG series possesses a kind of hip, chic presentational flair to this degree? The World Ends With You might even take its visual finesse a step beyond Persona, as every character has so much drip that they're soaked, or at least that’s how the kids these days describe it. Whether they be nameless NPCs that Neku scans, the reapers scattered around the underground, or even Neku and the rest of the players, everybody looks uniquely voguish. The collective of Shibuya looks like they traipse down the fashion runway in Milan, or maybe Shibuya is the Japanese equivalent of the extravagant Italian city (after doing some research, it is). At least one character in any Persona game is guilty of committing fashion crimes, so The World Ends With You arguably has the advantage over its stylistic inspiration for better consistency and a greater emphasis on overtly flaunting its panache.

After the opening sequence, The World Ends With You grants the player context behind what is happening to Neku and Shiki. By some circumstances, both characters have been hurled into a frantic game that takes place on the streets of Shibuya. The game exists in a subconscious realm called “the underground,” where the player can interact with civilians but not vice versa. Two players must play cooperatively, and both of them have to meet one objective under a certain time constraint. Usually, the mission entails the players arriving somewhere in Shibuya, with hooded (hoodies) pawns called Reapers impeding the player’s course to their goal. Reapers assign tasks to the players that range in objectives, and completing these tasks grants the player past the forcefield wall the Reapers erected. As tense as the beginning scene made the game out to be, the player (meaning the player of the video game in this context) can approach each day at a leisurely pace. Days usually begin with Neku and his partner at Scramble Crossing, a medium point situated appropriately between all other Shibuya districts. Sometimes, missions will be more circuitous as Neku helps reapers and citizens by finding the power source for a concert stage, finding a stolen microphone, aiding the owner of a failing ramen shop against its nearby competitor, etc. Overall, every mission presented daily in The World Ends With You is supported by exposition rather than gameplay. Running around Shibuya never grates on the player because at least the narrative always offers something interesting each day that furthers the plot. However, navigating through Tokyo’s ritzy ward is not a straightforward endeavor. Attempting to find a specific destination in Shibuya in relation to the starting point of Scramble Crossing is liable to get the player as lost as if they were hiking through the woods at night because the map of Shibuya present in the pause menu is the least reliable reference I’ve seen in a video game. The district map pinpoints the player’s location, but the surrounding areas are labeled in letter abbreviations that do not match the area's name. Earlier in the game, this isn’t so much of an issue, for the logical trajectory to the goal is to follow the reapers. Later on, when the Reapers go rogue and start attacking Neku, the game penalizes the player for retreading their steps in trying to find their destination. If I have to scour the internet for a fan-made map when the one the game provides isn’t satisfactory, something is seriously wrong.

Between walking aimlessly around Shibuya lies the real appeal of The World Ends With You: the combat. The way in which The World Ends With You innovates on typical JRPG battles is the true mark of the game’s ingenuity. Instead of swords, arrows, guns, or baseball bats, Neku is armed with an arsenal of pins. Similarly to the guns in the Persona games, the power of these seemingly innocuous pins is unlocked through the metaphysical properties of the underground. During combat, activating the pin's powers depends on its unique nature. The first combat pin given to Neku is a fire pin in which dragging the DS stylus across the screen engulfs the field in flames, damaging any enemies that come into contact. Other pins involve tapping the screen to unleash energy projectiles, locking on enemies to disperse rounds of rapid-fire bullets, summoning a line of ice pillars to stab enemies from the ground, a current that sprinkles the stage with volts of electricity, drawing an oval to send a rogue ball of energy flailing around the stage or summon boulders that careen down from the sky, etc. There is even a pin that paralyzes enemies with sonic sound waves if the player blows into the DS mic, a surefire way to make the player look like a jackass and make them weary about playing video games in public ever again. One Reaper task forces the player to equip only these pins in battle, so make sure to find sanctuary before coming across this point in the game. I’m intentionally glancing over some of the pins because the variety of different pins with different abilities is too numerous for comprehension. Neku’s pin inventory is so massive that it would make an eagle scout feel unaccomplished. Unfortunately, the amount of pins makes Neku’s inventory too congested. Purchasing pins from Shibuya’s various shops is a viable option to increase Neku’s array of weaponry, but the game will rain pins down on Neku after each battle like confetti. No matter how many of the same type Neku has, each pin is accounted for in an individual slot in the inventory. I couldn’t count how many Natural Puppy boomerang pins I had by the end of the game. Fortunately, the player can cash them out for a number of yen, and the strongest pins with a maximum experience level are listed separately. Still, the game should’ve piled the pins of the same type in one slot so the player wouldn’t have to scroll through multiple tabs. That is my sole grievance with the pin system. Otherwise, they serve as an incredibly engaging way to shake up the usual JRPG action. Mixing and matching combinations of pins guarantees that combat will never feel stale, as well as taking advantage of the unique utility of the DS and making something practical of it.

Much to Neku’s chagrin, he cannot test these weaponized pins on Shibuya’s bystanders. Enemies in The World Ends With You are referred to as “the noise,” creatures that inhabit the ethereal space of the underground. When Neku scans an area, multiple red and orange symbols are seen floating around the air like macroscopic germs. Touching one or more of these symbols will trigger a battle between potentially several different noise creatures. All the noise are a warped variation of real-life animals ranging from frogs, wolves, bats, jellyfish, kangaroos, etc. The developers even took some creative liberties with the inclusion of mythical dragons and the extinct wooly mammoth into the mix. All of the noise have a base color at their earliest encounter, but they progressively don a wide span of complexions that come with a higher difficulty level. Approaching the noise is something that the game leaves entirely in the player’s court. Unless the player is forced to face the noise for a Reaper task, they can vanquish as many of the buggers as they see fit. Tapping the various noise symbols in succession will “chain” multiple rounds with the noise, which becomes an endurance test depending on how many bouts the player willfully imposes on themselves. I recommend chaining enemies because doing so will net the player more substantial rewards. Blackish noise symbols break the rules a bit as these corrupted noises will quickly swarm the player instead of letting the player choose them. Their defense is staggeringly higher than average noise, and they insist that the player mustn't escape during battle. If combat becomes too taxing, it’s entirely the player’s fault. When the player bites off more than they can chew, the game also allows the player to restart the battle or set the difficulty to easy. I find this to be a bit patronizing, as I would rather have the option to change my selection of pins if I fail. Other than that, the game’s approach of encouraging the player to engage in combat rather than bombarding them with random encounters is quite refreshing. Plus, the noise is all as eclectic as the pins Neku uses to fight them, assuring that the player will never tire of combat due to the overall eclecticism. That, and I enjoyed seeking out new types of noise because their names listed in the compendium are all music genre related, something that tickles my music nerd fancy. “Shrew Gazer” and “Jelly Madchester” almost verge into bad pun territory, but what other video game, much less a JRPG, explicitly references these genres?

Teamwork is imperative in the game that The World Ends With You presents. The Reapers may be sadists, but even they wouldn’t leave a poor player to their own devices. A pact between Neku and Shiki is made to withstand the noise and all the other hurdles the underground might toss, which means that the player will be controlling Neku and Shiki. However, this dynamic isn’t executed like your average one-player video game team. Using the distinctive technology of the DS, the player will control Neku and Shiki simultaneously. For those of you who haven’t played this game and feel weary with this aspect in mind, I can’t blame you one bit. At least the turn-based element of normal JRPG combat involves focusing on one party member per turn. Attempting to juggle The World Ends With You’s fast-paced combat with two party members using unorthodox tools like the DS stylus may seem too overwhelming. In execution, however, the developers succeeded in making it manageable. The trick to pulling it off is making the control scheme of Neku’s partner simple. Shiki attacks in the top half of the two DS screens, sicing her animated stuffed cat on the noise with the D-Pad. Holding down the left or right tabs on the D-Pad is all the player has to do to deal sufficient damage to the noise as Shiki, and, fortunately, the duplicate noise seen on both screens is the same enemy with the same amount of health. Fusion attacks where Neku and Shiki perform a collaborative super move can be unlocked by executing different combos on the D-pad with Shiki, but I’ve found that the game grants this to the player by only mashing in one cardinal direction. After all, the developers understand that juggling two characters with two different move sets is a daunting exercise.

That is, they sympathize with the player on this front until it comes time to fight a boss. Bosses in The World Ends With You are gargantuan, heavily resistant foes whose health bars have colored layers that the player must slowly dwindle. Durability is not the issue here. The developers affirm the worries some might have had about the practicality of the game’s combat with the bosses. Frequently, Neku and his partner must take turns depleting two separate health bars, and the character who isn’t fighting the boss on their screen does not get a chance to relax as they still have to contend with smaller enemies. Either that or they must complete a portion of the fight that allows the other character to damage the boss. Neku and his partner don’t share a health bar, but if one character is beaten within an inch of their life, the other suffers by taking more damage upon being hit. I’m not entirely sure if it's due to my lack of peripheral vision, but the scatterbrained double tasking needed to defeat these bosses is unfair. Either the game could've given the player a choice to use the top screen, or co-op play should’ve been implemented.

The World Ends With You’s ambitions regarding the divergent gameplay can be questionable. However, the same cannot be said for the narrative substance that upholds it. The World Ends With You produces some of the most dynamic and nuanced characters I’ve seen in any video game. The most impressive of the narrative’s character arcs is Neku, who exemplifies the “redeemable asshole” trope splendidly. All the while, the game delves into pertinent themes that take full advantage of the modern setting.

George Carlin once discerned the difference between an “old fart” and an “old fuck” in one of his stand-up routines. An old fart is someone who is a grouch because of their advanced age wearing on them, while an “old fuck” is someone young who gripes with the world. For the latter, I can’t think of a better term to assign to our youthful yet curmudgeonly protagonist Neku. Our orange-haired misfit roams the streets of Shibuya, claiming that he “doesn’t understand people,” blocking out the irritating audible pollution comprised of the inane squawking of the people surrounding him. He wears a constant grimace on his face, and the common social niceties understood among most people are lost on him. The game needn’t provide a detailed backstory as to why Neku acts this way, for this is common amongst young men his age. I should know, as I, too, had a pair of headphones like Neku’s when I was a teenager, and I used them for the exact same purpose.

Like extracurricular after-school activities, The Reaper’s game forces Neku to interact with others for his own good. While Neku is the proverbial horse and the game is the water, he’ll only humor taking a drink for self-preservation when things get tense. At the start of the game, he’s a stubborn, insufferable prick, and the player will feel sorry for Shiki for having to have him contractually chained to him. Neku treats her like the scum between his toes, even physically lashing out at her when he’s annoyed with her. As much as the player might wish for Shiki to throw Neku into an oncoming bus, Neku must be antagonistic to this extent to illustrate that he’s Shiki’s foil. She’s kind, personable, perky, and has a passionate drive in life involving being a designer. While she’s the antithesis of Neku, she still carries the emotional baggage that all teenagers possess. She’s incredibly insecure about how she looks, and her entry fee into the Reaper’s game was her body which she swapped for the form of her “more attractive” friend Eri. By interacting with another human being willing to be patient with him, Neku learns the essential virtue of empathy. By the end of the week, he begins to tentatively change his tune. I’d comment that Shiki is another example of the tired manic pixie dream girl trope, but her gender is superfluous here. Neku is simply glad that he has made a friend.

A part of The World Ends With You’s subversiveness is not providing the shortest JRPG experience. The week’s time given to Neku and Shiki will diminish quickly before the player knows it, but there is far more of the game to explore. The setup for the second week expounds on more context missing from the beginning. Apparently, the players of this game are those who have recently died, and the underground is a state of purgatory. Playing the game to completion will grant the player an extra chance to return to the physical world and have another chance at life. Even though Neku succeeds in beating the game with flying colors, the Reapers exploit a loophole to keep him in the game. This time instead of his memories, his entry fee was Shiki, the person he cares for the most, a touching signification of how he’s grown. During these seven days, he tries to uncover the mystery behind his death with his new partner Joshua. If Shiki is Neku’s beacon of light, Joshua is the foul tempter in making Neku regress. Joshua shares the same contempt for humanity as Neku did, but with a sneering superiority complex and smug demeanor that makes him come across as sociopathic rather than an angsty kid. He controls the same as Shiki did but then develops god-like powers where he can deal massive damage shooting beams of energy while levitating. He’s also a glitch in the matrix as he’s a living person who is actively participating in the game as a player. Neku must keep his guard around Joshua, especially since his memories have recovered vague recollections of Joshua being Neku’s murderer. Once they become clearer, it turns out that the Reaper Minamimoto killed Neku, and Joshua sacrifices himself to save Neku at the end of the second week. I didn’t like Joshua because he’s a smarmy cunt, but I can’t deny that his wildcard presence spices up the game’s narrative and adds a layer of mystique.

Unfortunately, Joshua’s selfless deed did not grant Neku another chance at life. In Neku’s third week, he partners up with Beats, a familiar face who is as seasoned with the Reaper’s game as Neku is at the point. Out of the game’s secondary characters, Beat is perhaps the most dynamic character next to Neku. Beats is a tall, blonde young man carrying around a skateboard whose vernacular mostly consists of hip malapropisms. He also compensates for his lack of intellectual acumen with his brutish strength. Beats is impulsively hot-headed and greatly impatient, which is why he’s partaking in this game in the first place. Rhyme, Beats’s partner in the first week who got erased, is revealed to be Beat’s younger sister who died trying to save Beats from another one of his rash decisions. When Beats became a Reaper during the second week, it was all a means to climb the ladder to become the game’s composer, the omnipotent game master. He did not seek power to abuse it but to amend his past mistakes and give his sister another chance at life. Beats is yet another character whose bad first impressions are changed, as the big lug has a heart of gold and the will of a warrior. It’s too bad he’s the clunkiest of the three partners in battle.

Surprisingly with all of this positive character growth, the game seems to vindicate Neku’s initial cynical outlook. Through interacting with the people of Shibuya by scanning them and hearing their woes, the game portrays them as pitiable, materialistic, and comically impressionable. The ward of Tokyo is practically a glorified shopping mall, all with the gaudy excess that comes from the capitalist hub. Neku can purchase a number of clothes from a myriad of different flashy designer brands, but most of them all have the same stats. The constant flow of yen earned during battle and through disposing of pins guarantees that Neku will never be penniless, giving more of an emphasis on the frivolity of the culture. The game overtly comments on the farce of fads and capitalist practices when the Shadow Ramen store is doing better than its neighbor only because it’s trendy and has a celebrity endorsement, even though the more humble one has far superior food. The game shows that people are easily influenced by the most superficial things. A business executive makes all his important decisions by consulting a Shogi board that Neku manipulates. In extreme cases, the Reapers use the pins they’ve helped make popular to control the population of Shibuya. It turns them into pod people, but one could infer that the game assesses that they already were.

With all of this in consideration, the game conveys the message that despite the inane bullshit of modern life, one still can’t tune it out. Mr. Hanekoma, a respectable artist and game moderator, expresses to Neku the idea behind the title, “the world ends with you.” It means that in the bubble one encases themselves in when one wishes to be the ruler of their own space, one willfully blocks out the organic elements of life that make it meaningful. A bubble is only so big, which is a shame because the world is vast and filled with beautiful things. Similar to Persona, The World Ends With You expresses that friendship is one of the most integral aspects of modern life that conquers all insipid modernities. When Neku reunites with all his partners in the fabled Shibuya River and defeats the game’s conductor, Megumi, Joshua reveals himself as the game’s composer and finally grants Neku and the others a second chance at life. When they all come back, Shibuya hasn’t changed, but Neku and the others have expanded past their foreground by forming an organic bond beyond what they had in the underground. Neku even drops his headphones to signify that his world is much larger now. I came to somewhat of the same realization in the second half of my time in high school. I, like Neku, drowned out the world for the same reasons he did. By making myself vulnerable and letting people into my world, it inflated to a point where I was happier with my surroundings.

Square Enix is synonymous with the JRPG genre, especially that of the JRPGs we’ve all come to recognize as the genre’s traditional form. Decades later, it comes as no surprise that the developer had the potential to innovate once more and craft something unseen in the genre. The World Ends With You is a unique experience in so many ways that it’s astounding. The turn-based combat system that grew tiresome after the formula was exhausted upon repetition is shifted to some of the most kinetic gameplay seen in the genre, as well as making the best use of the DS’s format. However, the gameplay can be too ambitious for its own good, yet I can’t deny its originality. Even when the gameplay falters, The World Ends With You presents one of the most resonating stories seen in gaming, along with impeccably deep character writing. The World Ends With You the prime reason to own a DS, as far as I’m concerned.