Half-Life Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/28/2023)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Half-Life

Developer: Valve

Publisher: Sierra

Genre(s): First-Person Shooter

Platforms: PC

Release Date: November 8, 1998

On a scale of one to ten, how “mature” is the first-person shooter genre of video games? Actually, I’ll just revert this question into a rhetorical one because it would seem obvious to anyone that FPS games are inherently mature given the content of the genre. Any game where the player has a stacked arsenal of firearms strapped to their belts is bound to foster a bevy of bloody chaos. Even for those few FPS games deemed tamer by the ESRB where the player can’t splatter the walls with the insides of their enemies like a messy canvas, I can’t name a single FPS game with a rating less severe than “T” for teen. One game could potentially swap the bullets with NERF darts or some kind of liquid substance like water or paint, but where’s the vicarious thrill in that? Video games are the only outlet in which mowing down people and creatures with full rounds of piercing bullets and blowing them to smithereens with explosives is considered morally permissible in society (unless you want to join the army), and that’s probably the primary reason for their success. While the bloodshed and immersive gun-toting perspective the first-person angle provide certainly solidifies the FPS genre’s maturity in the graphical sense, there is another facet to the spectrum of maturity that might be in contention. FPS games are graphic, but are they sophisticated? The genre obviously isn’t intended for children, but statistics will point out that most of the FPS landscape is dominated by those younger than its intended demographic. I’m speaking about something of a “high-brow” FPS experience, a game that approaches the tropes of the genre with a more methodical, atmospheric, and cinematically-paced direction as opposed to the guerilla, high-octane masculine wish-fulfillment games like Doom and Duke Nukem portrayed. The first FPS game that elevated the FPS genre into its proverbial puberty, if you will, was Half-Life, the debut title from widely acclaimed American developer Valve.

I should probably interject and claim that Half-Life was not an “alternative” FPS game that appealed to the PC gaming hipsters while alienating the casual crowd that was usually satiated by the standard gung-ho FPS games. Half-Life was well received by practically everyone under the sun because it was still a tried and true FPS game. In fact, Half-Life’s beta form was a modded experiment, using the iconic multiplayer FPS game Quake as its mechanical template. Still, Half-Life was arguably the most innovative FPS game of the early 3D era after the genre’s basic foundation was established in the generation prior, and I’m surprised Valve’s ambitions didn’t turn anyone off at the time. Half-Life was truly a game changer not only for the FPS genre but for gaming in general, as games from genres outside of the FPS also took note of Half-Life’s sprinklings of pure genius. If I were to compare Half-Life to another work outside of the gaming medium with the same kind of impact, it would probably be Jean-Luc Godard’s seminal 1960 film debut Breathless. The seminal French New Wave film took the rulebook of filmmaking and burned it to a crisp, and Godard reshaped the medium of film from the smoldering ashes of tradition that was forever lost when he ignited the pages. All the while, Breathless still offered a simple story so as to not mystify the audience too swiftly with all of the radical rule-breaking they were witnessing. Half-Life follows something of a similar effect as the game is easily recognizable as an FPS game on the surface, but they’ll soon notice the askew details interwoven in the fabric of the game. As one could probably guess, Half-Life’s legacy is cemented by its visionary attributes that several future titles would emulate, making it a game held in the highest of respects by the gaming zeitgeist. However, Half-Life is turning a quarter of a century old this year and it's a game from the earliest of 3D eras, so I unfortunately have to bring its overall quality into contention with the dreaded “great for its time” assessment usually accompanied by an ellipsis. I hate to judge this legendary title by the liver spots it sprouted over time, but I’m not sure Half-Life can entirely coast by now with its landmark accomplishments.

Immediately, the player will notice Half-Life’s most innovative contribution to gaming in the opening sequence. Half-Life’s video game equivalent to Godard’s advent of jump cuts is the seamless cutscenes. In most video games, cutscenes are implemented as breaks from the gameplay to interpose exposition in a cinematic display. In an era where cutscenes were becoming more commonplace thanks to gaming technology now competently rendering something akin to reality like film, albeit in textures resembling claymation, Half-Life was not satisfied with conforming to this prevalent trend. Personally, I don’t mind cutscenes in video games as long as they are of a tasteful length and aren’t used as opportunities to substitute gameplay as film clips with little interactivity. Perhaps Valve was dissuaded after witnessing the self-indulgently long cutscenes seen in Metal Gear Solid released that same year and adamantly declared that video games should not stray away from their interactive nature. The opening “tram sequence” where our protagonist, the faceless theoretical physicist Gordon Freeman, is being escorted through the entrance of the Black Mesa research facility. While riding on the tram suspended over a magnetic rail, the player has free reign of camera control that can point Gordon’s first-person perspective towards any of the sights along the way to the main entrance. Once tardy Mr. Freeman finally makes his arrival through the security gates, his fellow scientists instruct him to find the HEV suit and make his way down to the testing chamber. Normally, a cutscene would direct the player through the process of directing Freeman toward his main objective because it’s pure exposition with no trace of action to gamify, and the opening on the tram would be scrapped entirely for being unnecessary. Most likely, cutscenes would interrupt the gameplay any time a scientist or security guard would speak to Gordon or the player would watch a lengthy cutscene detailing the descent from the entrance to the test room because the “action” doesn’t occur until after this objective is completed. Allowing the player to keep control of Gordon during these sections as if the action never ceases feels more organic in terms of mirroring gameplay with real-life autonomy. It almost exposes the superficial aspects of implementing cutscenes with automatically generated results in an interactive medium. Of course, the ability to act freely at all times allows the player to act like a lunatic in down times when their gaming skills aren’t needed. In this context, Gordon can dick around the facility for as long as the player wishes, running around like a sugar-addled child and popping a scientist's meal by pressing the popcorn button on the microwave too many times. Half-Life is arguably the prime culprit in causing a sense of “ludonarrative dissonance” in gaming, but the game was made at a time when non-gamer critics were apathetic about the medium and didn’t come up with rhetoric in an attempt to sabotage its credibility.

During the experiment in Black Mesa’s chambers, Half-Life truly loosens the chain of exposition as all hell breaks loose. Or, at least in Half-Life’s context, hell is the convergence with another dimension light years away. An accident occurs during the test when Gordon pushes a space crystal into the concentrated energy field in the test chamber’s center, which becomes dangerously unstable. This mistake creates a phenomenon the scientists refer to as a “resonance cascade,” which acts as a one-way portal to Earth from an alien world called “Xen.” If the explosion from the reaction didn’t kill everyone with the laboratory crashing down on them as collateral, then the hostile creatures from Xen will be sure to make quick work of them. Panicking in a situation that is seemingly hopeless, Gordon has to fight his way to the surface with his Black Mesa peers and pray that some kind of organization like the military comes to their rescue. The catalyst event in Half-Life is such tonal whiplash from the mundane office environment, and it catapults the player to a point of no return.

Throughout the duration of the game, Half-Life subtly exposes itself as a horror game. The game isn’t classified as one by most because it doesn’t fit the traditional definition of one, probably due to the genre being redefined in the vein of survival horror at the time thanks to Resident Evil. Surely, the content of Half-Life would be reasonably described as horrific. The state of New Mexico is a very inspired choice of setting for the Black Mesa compound, for the “Land of Enchantment” used to be associated with conspiratorial oddities like UFOs and radiated creatures before a certain television series shifted that to crystal meth production. Everything fucked up in New Mexico seems to only be affirmed by unreliable word of mouth, and that is exactly what the scenario in Black Mesa seems like something like a future urban legend. On top of climbing to the surface, Gordon and the others have to contend with Xen’s eclectic ecosystem of creatures, who all seem to have acquired a taste for human flesh. Every enemy the portal has provided is completely unique and takes some time to learn how to dispatch them upon frequent encounters. However, it’s not how they approach Gordon that makes them terrifying, rather; it’s what they do to the defenseless scientists. “Head Crabs” get their nickname from attaching themselves to the heads of their prey after they’ve paralyzed them, controlling the host in a zombified state. The look of how gnarled and decayed the host body is in such a short amount of time matched with their agonizing cries makes this enemy a shocking encounter. Barnacles are stationary predators that act like venus fly traps, letting down their sticky, rope-like tongues to unsuspecting victims and hoisting them up to liquefy them like a bioorganic blender, leaving the bone remnants as cleanly as a barbeque feast. Sometimes, the enemies lurking in air vents and between the crevices in the walls reduce the scientists to a bloody pulp, a testament to the theory that the fear of the unknown is more frightening than what is seen. Eventually, the military does arrive, but the player should save their hallelujahs. Instead of lending a helping hand, these padded, meathead sons-a-bitches are ordered to exterminate every last Black Mesa employee as a drastic means of covering up the resonance cascade incident. It’s like a darker depiction of jocks picking on the nerds, or picking off in this context. Even with their combat training and weapons, the military men will also succumb to the same grizzly fates at the hands of the aliens as the scientists did. All hope seems to be lost in Half-Life, and the constant visceral encounters make the feeling of doom more impending.

Yet, Half-Life never really exudes the same aura of spookiness as most horror games do. Half-Life’s atmosphere is more cold and mechanical if anything. Most of the game takes place inside Black Mesa’s walls and before the facility ran rampant with extraterrestrials, this was a place of business. Black Mesa was a professional environment that looks like the archetypal corporate building, reveling in sterility. Once chaos ensues, the destitute state of Black Mesa’s interior is like a fracture of bureaucratic stability. It would feel liberating if Gordon’s life wasn’t at stake because of what reduced Black Mesa to this, or if he wasn’t wedged between multiple layers of the Earth’s crust. Between the detritus of machines littered around the corridors of Black Mesa and the sublevel layers of earth the facility exists under like an inward skyscraper, Half-Life exudes a dreadful sense of claustrophobia that seems insurmountable to escape. Music is used very sparsely in the game, so the soundscape is the minimalist static of broken machinery matched with the tapping of Gordon’s footsteps. Half-Life gives off the feeling of being alone, even though many NPC scientists and security guards are scattered about trying to survive. The fear stems from feeling like Gordon is left to his own defenses in this grueling trek to freedom.

This ascent to the surface also feels quite extensive because of how Half-Life is paced. Half-Life’s progression is more linear than its FPS contemporaries, with the seamless nature of its presentation making the ascent to the surface an uninterrupted excursion with the occasional loading break. It’s a far cry from the tailor-made, individual levels that divide FPS games like Doom. Yet, the journey does not feel like a straight dash to the finish line. The way Half-Life is constructed is that while progression is technically a long stretch between points A and B, several intersecting routes put an array of decimal points to get to the destination. Half-Life’s story is organized into chapters, and the start of each chapter introduces something new or strictly has a core level motif. For example, “Blast Pit” is the circuitous extermination process of three sharp tentacles protruding from the exit point, and Gordon must turn the power back on in three separate pathways to expunge it. “Residue Processing” sees Gordon reclaiming all of his weapons after being bushwhacked in the dark by the military and sent to a garbage compactor like in the first Star Wars movie. Actually, describing Half-Life’s chapters as organized implies they are of equal division in length, and this is certainly not the case. Some chapters are brief while some are prolonged to the point of wondering when it’s going to end, and this pattern (or lack thereof) persists across the entire game. I much prefer the shorter chapters because the gimmick or theme of some of the longer ones tends to overstay their welcome. “On a Rail'' is an excruciatingly long chapter involving traveling with an electric rail car to the end of the line just so Gordon can be lifted along one elevator after a certain point. Considering how many times Gordon has to stop and prudently run across the tracks, it seems like we’re escorting the rail car rather than vice versa. Isn’t that ass-backward? “Surface Tension” sounds like the apex point of the game’s narrative, but it is rather the midway point where the game’s difficulty curve ratchets up exponentially. Snipers located in elusive corners annihilate Gordon at every waking moment along with new armored alien species with projectile weapons to contend with. Did I mention there is an attack helicopter to duck and cover from unless Gordon has a specific weapon on his person? After completing this grueling expedition around the surface world, the chapter made me feel as bruised and battered as Gordon probably did. I have no qualms with the shorter chapters.

As par for the course in an FPS game, Half-Life grants Gordon an abundance of weapons at his disposal. Gordon starts with the standard weapons seen across most FPS games such as a pistol, submachine gun, and shotgun to name a few, but his arsenal quickly extends to the point that it gets ridiculous (in a good way). Ammunition for the .357 magnum is scant, so one should conserve this powerful handgun for strong singular enemies. The crossbow is the only weapon that operates while Gordon is underwater, and it still impales enemies on dry land just as effectively. Explosives ranging from grenades, trigger-operated C4, and a rocket launcher, to trip mines will blow the enemy to bits if the player can use them accurately. The submachine gun even has an alternative grenade launcher with its own ammunition, and it's by far my favorite weapon in the game. The Tau Cannon and Gluon Gun are juggernaut weapons that are powerful enough to evaporate anything it targets. If the revolver kicks like a mule, these weapons kick like an oncoming car. The developers even get creative with providing some foreign imports from Xen that the aliens have foolishly left lying around. The grotesque, phallic-looking Hornet Gun unleashes the angry insects in spurts of eight, and it’s the only gun that replenishes its own ammo. Gordon can wrangle up these nasty, man-eating bugs called Snarks and sic them on his enemies (provided they don’t chew him up beforehand). Ammunition for most of these weapons is plentiful as it can be found by breaking open boxes with Gordon’s trusty crowbar. Not only is this the weapon people associate Gordon Freeman with, but it’s the first melee weapon in a first-person shooter with its own use besides a last resort of defensive for when you’ve exhausted your ammunition.

While I appreciate the sweep of weapons and the ingenuity of the alien variety, I’d appreciate them more if all of them were practical. Naturally, some weapons aren’t going to be as powerful as others, but this isn’t the issue. The default controls for Half-Life are inverted because it was popular at the time for god knows why. If they weren’t inverted, the shooting controls still require a near-perfect amount of precision. I don’t know how many times a headcrab got an opportunity to launch at me like a tarantula because I had to take an inordinate amount of time to aim at the damn thing. This is why I recommend teaming up with the security guards, who I endearingly and non-canonically refer to as “Security Steve,” that can take care of the headcrabs early in the game when Gordon is limited to a pistol and the crowbar. After that, “Security Steve” is no match for the military or the alien grunts, and Gordon will still have to line his sights precisely while they pelt him with bullets. Even when aiming correctly, some weapons are pitiful against enemies. One would think a rocket launcher would be in the same league as the other juggernaut weapons, yet it always seemed to bounce off of any tanks or attack helicopters I’d fire a missile at. The shotgun is the worst of both worlds as it seems to deal a tepid amount of damage AND it barely does anything at point-blank range if the cursor doesn’t reach the enemy. It’s a fucking shotgun for Christ's sake! The reason why I love the grenade launcher is because it’s effective and I don’t have to take Adderall to ensure an accurate shot.

If the weapons are anything to go by, Half-Life is often a finicky experience. Why then did the developers feel the need to incorporate platformer sections? Jumping in FPS games tends to be trivial, yet there are so many in Half-Life that you’d think Gordon was donning a pair of overalls and red clothing underneath instead of a hazmat suit. Since we can’t see Gordon, perhaps it really is Mario that Black Mesa assigned to conduct their experiments. Honestly, Mario would fare better in this situation than Gordon because not only is he a schmuck, he’s a frail nerd. Playing as someone who is physically less-than-capable compared to the superhuman hunks overflowing with testosterone seen across most FPS games is admirably subversive. Still, this does mean that Gordon is subject to receiving more quantifiable pain than the average video game hero. Health is fortunately plentiful on the field in first-aid cases and in dispensers that inject up to half of the total health. While replenishing health is opportune, this is only due to the fact that it can be diminished quickly. Armor is less common and unless Gordon has at least a bit of it, his health can drop to zero in a heartbeat. I blame the military’s grenade launchers and the Vortigaunts Sith Lord lightning firing at all angles. With enemies, I learned to approach every new corridor with caution, and I managed to surpass them relatively intact. However, some sections that require platforming seem to punish the player severely. Hopping onto boxes, leaping onto ladders, and bouncing onto high platforms with those alien trampolines still tend to damage Gordon even if the player executes these athletic feats competently. FPS games and platformers were not ready to wed in holy matrimony, and Half-Life is indicative of this statement.

Half-Life is hard if all of my evidence didn’t make that clear enough. Because Half-Life is hard, it’s important to save often, and I can’t stress this enough. Half-Life’s loading screens are strictly the game buffering and do not factor as checkpoints. The player has the freedom to save at any point they wish in the pause menu, either printing their progress permanently or making something of a checkpoint with a “quick save.” As convenient as this sounds, being in the midst of action can make the player overlook saving. When they finally die, they can be resurrected so long before that point that it feels like a severe punishment more for carelessness than anything else. I tended to save at points where Gordon was at his healthiest, an opportune way to start anew if circumstances didn’t pan out. Eventually, as the game became harder, I started to abuse this feature out of paranoia more than anything, and playing the game didn’t feel organic. I guess this criticism could apply to the number of more modern titles with manual save features overall, and Half-Life is most likely the game that pioneered them. Regular checkpoints are just fine, thank you.

Gordon popping his head above the underground bunker to reach his goal of seeing sunlight again was only a secondhand task. The alien forces become so overwhelmingly pugnacious that the military surrenders and counts their losses. After this, the scientists decide to hit the aliens where it really hurts by sending Gordon to their home of Xen via another portal. That’s right; it’s time for Gordon to return the favor to these pussbuckets. The first glimpse of Xen is extraordinary. Gordon finds himself on a floating rock in what seems like the barren outer limits of space. The spacious, almost measureless setting here is the antithesis of the confined corners of the man-made setting of Black Mesa, and the aurora glimmering all around is gorgeous. The only drawback to this astral wonder is that the few chapters on Xen are not constructed like the ones in Black Mesa. The developers use the portal devices to teleport Gordon around the place, and the progression isn't as smooth. The gameplay here is tweaked a bit as resources are scarce because having them strewn about the place wouldn’t make sense. There are shallow bodies of water with healing properties that cannot be quenchable, which is pretty neat. Overall, it’s a nice change of pace for the end of the game, but it isn’t as effective as the Black Mesa environment in terms of tone.

Surprisingly, the motherland of Xen is also when the game decides to unload a few boss battles on the player. The first truly tenacious foe in Half-Life is Gonarch, a space arachnid that can spit acid, ram Gordon with its solid cranium, and birth infant head crabs from the giant sac dangling from its body. Obviously, this conspicuous part of its anatomy is its weak spot, so it isn't much trouble to subdue. Nihilanth, on the other hand, is the most roundabout final boss battle I’ve faced in a while. This alien demigod that looks like an unborn fetus is slow enough to efficiently telegraph his attacks, but he’s got a few interesting tricks up his sleeves. Oftentimes, he’ll unleash a green orb that teleports Gordon to four different areas, and Gordon must find his way back to the arena. These four areas are also the only opportunities to restock on health and ammo, so I recommend intentionally stepping in front of them even if trailing back can be distracting. Shooting his head enough times to the point where it splits open is when Gordon can unleash a killing blow on the beast and end things, but the continual hike up to reach him at eye level using those godforsaken trampolines and getting a bullseye on his brain is exhausting. This boss took more than a half-hour to beat, and the tedium severely grated on me.

Eventually, as the Xen leader falls, it is no time to celebrate. The final scene of Half-Life introduces its most interesting character: the G-Man. This elusive man who looks like an administrative official with his sharp suit and briefcase appears around the corners of Black Mesa throughout the game, and the player might miss him in their peripheral vision. Whether or not the player caught a glimpse of this debonair stranger during the game, he formally makes his acquaintance to Gordon and congratulates him on his accomplishment. However, what occurred at Black Mesa is not water under the bridge now. The G-Man offers Gordon an ultimatum, as he is to accept an ambiguous position from his employers or face the wrath of more Xen creatures with no means of defense. Exiting the tram from the beginning to a green portal will signal the former while ignoring him will teleport Gordon among hundreds of Xen grunts. G-Man isn’t only perplexing because of his transient demeanor, but of what he represents at the end. It seems to be that the events of the game have made such a negative impact that Black Mesa has doomed the earth. Is G-Man God making an appearance at the end of times, assigning Gordon as some agent of the impending apocalypse? Whichever conclusion the player might come to, the fact that the developers robbed the player of a happy ending after withstanding so much is a stride in narrative-driven games. Suddenly, video games didn’t seem so much like a source of happy escapism achieved through the player’s accomplishments.

Half-Life is remarkably impressive. Valve took no time in evolving as an exceptional video game developer, for they already concocted a masterpiece from the get-go. That is, Half-Life is a masterpiece on paper. The game attempted so many revolutionary mechanics like the seamless cutscenes and uninterrupted progression with that harmonious mechanic, and it worked so fluidly. It was more mature than most video games, much less ones in the FPS genre because it wasn’t afraid to convey an adventure that exuded a bleak atmosphere in a bleak setting that all culminated into a bleak ending. Only films at that time dared to leave the audience drained to that extent, but it shouldn’t have done so with some of the awkward mechanics that did not mesh well with the game’s more exemplary attributes. Half-Life is a strong enough blueprint for the FPS genre moving further than anything. Still, the game is an effective work of art, and that’s a landmark quality it continues to retain.

Milk Outside a Bag of Milk Outside a Bag of Milk Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/24/2023)

[Image from igdb.com]

Milk Outside a Bag of Milk Outside a Bag of Milk

Developer: Nikita Kryukov

Publisher: Nikita Kryukov

Genre(s): Visual Novel

Platforms: PC, Switch

Release Date: December 16, 2021

Milk Outside a Bag of Milk Outside a Bag of Milk. Again, the loop-de-loop title of this game bewilders me. Of course, that might be the game’s intention. “Milk Outside” is the sequel to solo indie developer Nikita Kryukov’s 2020 psychological horror story “Milk Inside,” the harrowing tale of a girl purchasing the eponymous bag of milk from her local market. Why was this simple errand such a daunting escapade? I can’t say with complete certainty, but the protagonist's point of view is rather askew, to say the least. Actually, one reason why we might not know why Milk’s protagonist sees the world in the contorted way she does is that “Milk Inside” was too brief to deconstruct. One could play the game in the time it takes to ride the subway or take a shit, and its short run time was probably not to capitalize on the fleeting attention spans of modern gamers. “Milk Inside” was far too ephemeral of an experience for the psychological dread conveyed through its presentation to resonate with the player. It presented a striking atmosphere with its audio and visuals, but it left the player’s consciousness as quickly as a shooting star. “Milk Outside” is a vital opportunity to extrapolate on its predecessor's hidden depth that did not get a chance to unfold in being curt.

Even though “Milk Outside” seems like a case of the developer releasing their game in its full form after exposing us to its beta test, “Milk Outside” does not fall under the hard reboot territory. “Milk Outside” is a sequel in the traditional sense of being set after the events of the previous title, with the disturbed girl from the first game returning home after completing her task of obtaining the bag of milk. The player is reminded of the events of the previous game immediately as they are showcased in the opening cutscene, displayed with full-fledged animation that must’ve blown a sizable chunk out of Kryukov’s budget. Once the game begins, the protagonist is victimized by a group of haunting shadows, spurred by her delusional thoughts that a corpse might be rotting away in her apartment. After one mental apparition closes, another one opens in the form of a blank-faced figure greeting her at the door who resembles the ghastly form of the archetypal “sleep paralysis demon.” The chilling figure sinks its icy claws into the protagonist as punishment for drinking milk, and the sensation of pain and discomfort the protagonist describes at this moment is quite graphic. I’m not sure what the significance of this creature is and why it’s insistent that the protagonist become lactose intolerant. However, what is clear to me from this introduction is that “Milk Outside” blazes over the previous game with a remarkable presentation. The animation is surprisingly refined and the contrasting black and red colors make the scene in the doorway truly terrifying.

Once the protagonist enters her room, the frantic atmosphere begins to wane and become tranquil like she’s arrived at her safe haven. It’s here where the player gets a clear view of the protagonist after receiving a few glimpses of her eyes in a hazy purple glow from “Milk Inside’s” point of reference. She’s a pale girl with messy brown hair, a baggy T-shirt, and an overall timid, haggard demeanor. Her overall wearisome presence is exactly what the player might’ve pictured her from the constant episodes of torment we’ve experienced with her. I think being able to see the protagonist from a third-person perspective here marks an evolution from the first game. Now that we’ve seen the level of dissonance she sees the world with, separating our view from hers can be essential to her growth and our better understanding of the character.

This shift is important because the player’s role is once again talking the protagonist through the events like her imaginary friend or omniscient, sentient presence that breaks the fourth wall. Before the protagonist can fall into her medication-induced sleep for the night, the player must help her collect six fireflies that have been scattered around her room. It’s here where the developer decides to gamify the visual novel foundation, with the protagonist overtly describing the objective as “being a character in a point-and-click adventure game.” Each object found in her room potentially houses one of the glowing insects, and the protagonist shares an anecdote about each item that gives her more personality. For some reason, the game will freeze if they select the vent, and the protagonist will insinuate that you’re trying to escape. For one, an air vent is a perfectly logical palace to look for bugs and secondly, is freezing the game with this selection a punishment from the game? I didn’t know I was playing fucking Minesweeper.

The game didn’t need more interactivity to spruce up the experience, but one thing that collecting the fireflies does is coincide with the ending. The player can choose to quit at any time, and the number of fireflies collected will determine the course. The ending is a dream sequence that occurs once the protagonist falls asleep, and her mind conjures up a plethora of possibilities. If the player collects all of the fireflies on their first playthrough, a younger version of the protagonist will escort a young boy through the process of purchasing milk from the same store seen in the first game, which also has its share of complications. Collecting all of the fireflies while skipping some of the cutscenes will see the protagonist’s face contorted at an assortment of unnatural angles. Half-assing the firefly collecting process will net endings that involve the protagonist descending a winding, never-ending staircase and failing to hold onto anything in a dark, expanding room. After each of these, the protagonist wakes in fright and bursts into tears. As traumatizing as they might be for the protagonist, the multiple endings were exactly what I wished “Milk Inside” would do with the variety of player options. I am absolutely satisfied.

Still, I feel like I don’t have a firm grasp on the substance of “Milk Outside” because so much has been put on my plate. Perhaps the malevolent figure at the beginning is a personified form of the protagonist's mother’s overbearingness and how it affected her personal development. Maybe the fireflies placing themselves on her personal items reflect how some things in her life still give her light and joy despite her condition. Every dream could represent a faction of her mental illness or display some unresolved trauma directly connected to it. It’s not a jumbled mess, but it takes some time to process the experience as a whole. Unlike “Milk Inside,” “Milk Outside” presents enough substance to make it worth pondering over.

Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga Review

(Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/22/2023)

[Image from wikipedia.org]

Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga

Developer: AlphaDream, Vanpool

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): JRPG

Platforms: GBA

Release Date: November 17, 2003

I did not grow up with the Mario & Luigi series. Actually, it feels as if the series was adjacent to my early development years as a gamer, but I had yet to play any of them prior to this review. Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga, the first game in the series, was receiving tons of critical acclaim the same year I was thoroughly exposed to the world of gaming, so I was well aware of its impact. My best friend growing up heralded Superstar Saga as the “quintessential Mario experience,” or at least that’s the same sentiment expressed more eloquently than as the seven/eight-year-old he was at the time. Being an ecstatic enthusiast of the Paper Mario games as a child naturally should’ve correlated to an interest in playing the Mario & Luigi games but somehow, the opportunity slipped through the cracks. Why was I relatively indifferent to Mario & Luigi? It’s not as if I selectively chose to only play the Paper Mario games as an act of silly reverence, as many fans even tend to umbrella both series as the collective of Mario RPG spinoffs. I suppose my surprising indifference to Mario & Luigi was due to the fact that the games were exclusively on handheld hardware. My optimal way of playing a video game was to sit in front of the television with a controller and bask in its comparatively more enveloping glow, and that’s still the case to this day as an adult. I owned a Game Boy Advance growing up (the SP model to be precise) and mainly used it as a Pokemon machine because Pokemon Silver was the only game I had for the Game Boy Color. Whether it was due to some undiagnosed trauma (or autism) that impeded me from playing Superstar Saga at its prime, I’m happy to report that I’ve made up for lost time. I had high expectations for Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga after what is now decades of hype, and the game has delivered on them splendidly.

Still, I can’t help but compare Mario & Luigi to Paper Mario. Both series are spiritual successors to Super Mario RPG on the SNES, sharing the same JRPG genetic code that separates it from the mainline series of platformers. Also, each Mario RPG, regardless of the specific series, uses the narrative-intensive genre as a vehicle to expand the world and characters of the Mario universe. The direction to achieve this sense of amplification tends to verge into the subversive territory. The first Paper Mario game was only slightly off-beat, as it told the traditional Mario story of Mario saving a kidnapped Peach from Bowser once again with more dialogue, exposition, and other patches of irregular elements that the developers couldn’t possibly squeeze into a mainline Mario game. The Paper Mario series would become more irreverent as the series progressed, but Mario & Luigi came out of the gate swinging a toolkit of monkey wrenches at Super Mario’s foundation. To increase their allegiance to the Mushroom Kingdom, the neighboring BeanBean Kingdom sends esteemed ambassadors to Peach’s Castle to offer her a generous token. However, that generous gesture is actually a cloud of noxious smoke, as the meeting has been intercepted by the devious BeanBean witch Cackletta, disguised with her right-hand crony Fawful. One would expect the gas to knock Peach out so these fiends can easily carry her off to whatever vessel they arrived in and fly off with her in their captivity, but that would be too orthodox for a Mario conflict premise. Instead, the booby trap kidnaps Peach’s voice, rendering her deprived manner of speech to take the form of jagged characters that drop out of the text bubble and literally explode like bombs. Bowser, in his regular routine of capturing Peach, finds her unstable communication to be a hefty inconvenience, so he joins the Mario Bros. on their quest to retrieve the voice and return it to its rightful owner. From the beginning of their valiant adventure, Fawful attacks them on an airship, and the fallout of his ambush leaves Bowser separated from Mario and Luigi. So much for that solid truce between Mario and his usual arch-nemesis. Still, the fact that this cooperative pact was made at all is rather extraordinary. Cackletta’s goal in using Peach’s voice is to activate the “Beanstar,” a mythical artifact in the BeanBean Kingdom that is said to grant the wishes of someone pure, hence why Peach’s voice is needed. One might point out that the Beanstar is the same as the Star Rod from Paper Mario, but this kind of magical with an all-powerful allure has been used as a standard Macguffin for a number of Nintendo’s IPs (the Star Rod from Kirby, the Triforce, etc.). As I’ve said before regarding Paper Mario’s pension for slight irreverence, the low bar that the mainline series sets make the smallest sort of deviation a fresh change of pace. In Superstar Saga, the rule book for a Mario story almost gets tossed out of the window entirely, which is a wonderful sign of things to come to keep one’s interest piqued. Also, the start of the adventure is spurred by the player as Toad rushes to Mario and Luigi’s house to warn them that the princess is in danger, and Toad gets an unsavory glimpse at Mario’s Italian sausage while he’s in the shower. C’mon, any Mario game where the player can control Toad, the most notable NPC in gaming, for a brief period has got to have some wild tricks up its sleeves.

Up until the Gamecube era, setting a Mario title outside the confines of the Mushroom Kingdom was considered a revolutionary prospect. Super Mario Sunshine marked the first mainline Mario game that dared to plant Mario past the parameters of Peach’s royal country, but the vacation premise sort of implied that this setting was merely a temporary digression. Paper Mario would revel in placing Mario in settings beyond the realm of franchise normalcy, but his first outing as a quirky, two-dimensional arts and crafts project kept him secured in the Mushroom Kingdom’s domain in order to use the JRPG format to expand on the typical Mario story. In the case of the BeanBean Kingdom where the brothers find themselves in Superstar Saga, it’s difficult to say whether or not this protein-rich province is all that different from their normal stomping grounds. BeanBean Kingdom shares many parallels to the fungal neighbors of an unknown directional point of reference. The land where the musical fruit roams has a topographical eclecticism that seems to rival the Mushroom Kingdom’s imperialistic endeavors. BeanBean’s land elevations range from the waterfall-filled apexes of Hoo-Hoo Mountain, the wildly ungroomed wilderness of Chucklehuck Woods, to the sandy shores of the beaches located around the kingdom’s eastern coastline.

While the BeanBean Kingdom can compete with the Mushroom Kingdom’s varied array of destination spots, BeanBean Kingdom decided to take a divergent route for its infrastructure. Nowhere on BeanBean’s map is there a hub for our heroes to relax and briefly wind down in, taking off their leather boots to scrape the blood and guts of every Goomba and Koopa Troopa they’ve stomped on. BeanBean’s capital located in the center of the realm is the hotspot for purchasing items and overalls that are somehow stocked abundantly for both Mario and Luigi’s convenience. BeanBean’s capital even features a cafe where Mario and Luigi can make a smattering of exotic coffee blends made from the various beans littered beneath the grounds of the kingdom, and these earthy concoctions are tested by the eccentric scientist E. Gadd from Luigi’s Mansion back when Nintendo attempted to keep this character relevant. Alas, the capital does not exude the same atmosphere of a hub like Toad Town, the coziest of hubs located outside the grounds of Peach’s Castle in Paper Mario. Firstly, Mario and Luigi only become acquainted with the capital area after fully exploring two other areas. Secondly, the fact that the capital looks as bombed out as the aftermath of intercontinental Europe following WWII does not make the player feel safe and sound. In fact, the state of BeanBean’s capital becomes more shell-shocked as the game progresses. Lastly, the brothers do not return here after every mini-climactic point on their quest like Mario did upon returning from Toad Town’s branching pathways. It took me longer to realize this than I’m willing to admit, but the developers were not trying to replicate Toad Town on a handheld device. Rather, BeanBean Kingdom shares a striking resemblance to Hyrule, specifically the rendition of Zelda’s kingdom from A Link to the Past. BeanBean’s capital is located at the core of the nation like Zelda’s castle estate, signifying that it’s comparable to a nucleus in both stature and its literal position. The field area outside of the castle’s perimeter can be construed as an “overworld” due to its relatively neutral terrain with a plethora of secrets to be found that will net the brothers some upgrades and goodies if they search diligently. All the while, the areas of interest like dungeon-esque HooHoo University and the Yoshi Theater, whose patrons are all the colorful, gluttonous dinosaurs, never feel as if they are removed from the rest of the map. Returning from an area outside the grassy BeanBean plain doesn’t emit a wash of sentimentalism like it usually does with the less coalesced districts that stem from Toad Town. Zelda’s world design influence works wonders for Superstar Saga because it's a top-down game, an inherent commonality with A Link to the Past as opposed to any other Mario RPG. Overall, the design decisions are fluid and aid in differentiating Superstar Saga from the other Mario RPG series.

I suppose another reason why Superstar Saga’s world feels more topsy-turvy is that its pacing is so erratic. Comparing Superstar Saga to Paper Mario at this point makes me sound like a broken record, but the way both Mario RPGs structure their narratives is the prime contrasting factor between these two franchises. Paper Mario organizes its narratives by dividing its subsections into chapters that focus on a singular area with its own sub-narrative that comes back around to the overarching plot after solving the conflict of the subplot and obtaining the game’s primary MacGuffin. Superstar Saga, on the other hand, will have the brothers running ragged with how jumbled their quest trajectory is. Fortunately, the location of the objective is clearly displayed on the game’s map in the pause menu with a soaring red flag marker. Thank the lord for this because I’d be totally lost without it. Once they reach the objective point, which usually leads to traversing around an area outside of the BeanBean overworld, the path from point A to B is fairly clear. All the brothers have to contend with along their way is a series of puzzles that impede their progress. Before then, Mario and Luigi will zigzag around BeanBean’s overworld like a couple flies hovering around a dead body.

Though I prefer the more episodic story structure seen in Paper Mario, I think the more spontaneously assigned objectives in Superstar Saga greatly complement the game’s humor. Paper Mario may have its chuckle-worthy moments, but Superstar Saga revels in wackiness. I’ve often compared Mario to silent screen legend Charlie Chaplin, and their famous mustaches are only a mere fraction of that comparison. Both Nintendo’s mascot and the tramp share a certain blue-collar charm to them, a loveable scamp portraying someone of a low common denominator status that is more than the sum of their parts (ie. a chubby plumber and a homeless man respectively). That, and tumbling down a series of platforms in Super Mario 64 and Sunshine is vaguely reminiscent of the slapstick comedy that Chaplin helped popularize in film, which in the Mario context is as funny as it is frustrating. Superstar Saga’s inherent RPG mechanics negate the possibility of dooming Mario with slipping into oblivion, so the Chaplin-esque influence stems from his other comedic attributes. Charles Martinet’s voice he provides for Mario (and less notably Luigi, Wario, and Waluigi as well) is one of the most recognizable voice roles in gaming. Still, it’s not like the recording studios at Nintendo have ever challenged Martinet with any Mario monologue similar to channeling Daniel Day-Lewis. Mario is a simple character that works perfectly with catchphrases, yelping, and vaguely Italian gibberish. However, all of the instances where all of these vocalizations are uttered mostly coincide with specific controls like jumping and being hit. In Superstar Saga, Mario's (and Luigi’s) utterances carry them through the events of the game as they react to the dialogue from the other characters as the most physically expressive they’ve ever been, fully encapsulating that silent comedy influence they’ve always had. The brothers are always gaping their mouths in shock in times of peril, clumsily running into walls, and looking dazed after being impacted with something blunt. Who says pixels can’t render emotions as well as 3D can?

Mario and Luigi aren’t the only Mushroom Kingdom mainstays joining them on their quest through the BeanBean Kingdom. Bowser and Peach are requisite for any Mario adventure in some capacity, and the way that they are integrated into Superstar Saga is indicative of the game’s level of subversiveness. Using the game’s introduction as evidence, Bowser is no longer held up in his palace waiting for Mario to beat him into submission. From the smidge of dialogue Bowser spouts, this game’s depiction of the Koopa King is the lovably buffoonish one we know from Paper Mario. However, Bowser mostly spends his time in Superstar Saga being the brunt of physical abuse and emasculation. After his airship crashes, his unfortunate luck leads him to fall into a cannon that conveniently fits his bulky, hard-shelled frame as he gets blasted to no man’s land. Upon seeing him again, Bowser is donning a blue mask as the neutered bitch sidekick of a BeanBean thief named Popple (his Luigi, if you will). While the introduction will have the player believe that Peach’s voice is a captured surrogate for her body, the game presents a twist to the player that reveals Peach is entirely unharmed. Supposedly, Peach’s guards knew of Cackletta’s duplicity beforehand, so they swapped her with a fake Peach to thwart their plans. This fraud is revealed to be Birdo, the Mushroom Kingdom’s favorite flirty, bow-wearing bisexual who is rarely integrated into any mainline Mario titles. Peach is actually available in some sections of the game, even if a big chunk of her screen time involves escorting her through the desert in the most infuriating part of the game. Bowser’s bastard Koopalings returns after a decade-long hiatus, and the brothers fight each of them individually. If dusting off older characters and putting them in the limelight again is a part of Superstar Saga’s subversiveness, it’s a welcome change of pace from the mainline series.

Of course, the fact that Superstar Saga is set in an unexplored kingdom means that there is a whole new cast of characters to get acquainted with, and they’re all delightful. Among the slew of green, Toad-like NPCs around the BeanBean Kingdom are the monarchs that they serve, and they’ll be cooperating with Mario to stop Cackletta from potentially taking over the world with the Beanstar’s power. We are introduced to BeanBean’s queen as a hostile boss battle, but this is only due to a parasite that the brothers then have to eradicate from her stomach with the digestive powers of a special kind of Chuckola Cola. After that, the Rubenesque ruler and her assistant aid Mario in directing him on the right path. Her son, Prince Peasley, decides to butt into the brothers' business on the field, waving his poncey blonde hair with a cocky smirk expected of someone who was born with a silver spoon in their mouth. Even in a game where Mario and Luigi are constantly fumbling over each other, Peasley is still the comic relief. Superstar Saga’s recurring villains are especially exemplary because they exude so much personality. Cackletta is aptly named because her defining feature is that witchy laugh of hers, usually at the expense of Mario and Luigi’s or something/someone else good and moral. However, I find her diabolical nature to be a bit cliche in the supreme antagonist role she fulfills. The true highlight villain in Superstar Saga is Fawful, Cackletta’s right-hand man in her evil operations. He doesn’t subvert too much from the henchman trope seen across all media, but this beady little bean has one quirk that makes everyone adore him. Whenever Fawful speaks, his speech is rife with so many grammatical errors and malapropisms that it's reminiscent of the dialogue from Zero Wing. How lines like “I HAVE FURY,” “at last, my entrance, with drama!” and his insult “fink-rat” haven’t been immortalized in the pop culture lexicon unlike “all your base are belong to us” is a mystery. Every warped line uttered by Fawful is pure gold.

But really, the best aspect of Superstar Saga’s lively character roster is the inclusion of Luigi. Luigi has always served a secondary role to Mario since his inception but somewhere along the line, Nintendo started to completely blow him to the wayside. Luigi hadn’t made as much as a cameo for the first two 3D mainline Mario titles, skipping two whole generations that would’ve been vital to his character. Luigi is only Mario’s housemate in Paper Mario, an NPC who stays home airing his grievances that he wasn't invited out to play. No wonder everyone thought Luigi’s Mansion was trifling material as Luigi’s first proper 3D introduction. Mario had gone solo, forgetting completely that his roots stemmed from sharing his billing with his brother. I jest at Luigi’s expense from time to time, but his frank omission from Mario’s mainline adventures on the N64 and GCN makes me sympathetic to him. Fortunately, for those Luigi fans who felt slighted at his absence, Superstar Saga makes certain that Mario doesn’t bogart the spotlight to the point where Luigi is shadowed in complete darkness. On top of actually having a consistent presence in the game, Superstar Saga marks a considerable point of evolution for Luigi. While Luigi was playable in Super Mario Bros. 1-3 and World, his design boiled down to “Green Mario” thanks to the primitive graphics. Seeing him side-by-side with his brother here shows a great distinction between them, as Luigi is clearly taller, slimmer, and has a thinner mustache. I also believe that this is the first time when Martinet gives Luigi a distinct vocal inflection, which is more nasal and pitched lower than Mario’s voice. More importantly than anything physical, Superstar Saga continues the timid persona Luidi exuded in Luigi’s Mansion as his prime characteristic. Mario is now the straight man to Luigi’s blubbering and pitiable demeanor, the Costello to his Abbot. It’s a strong dynamic between the two that has never been so pronounced in any previous Mario game. The game also seems to be aware of how prevalent ignoring Luigi is in the Mario universe, with characters not knowing his name and the fact that Luigi was originally going to stay behind as always in the beginning. All of us Luigi fans forgive you (for now), Nintendo.

Mario and Luigi’s discernable traits in terms of their personality and design is all fine and good, but the essential factor in this dynamic that defines the Mario & Luigi series is how they act on the field. Mario and Luigi are magnetized to each other throughout the game, switching between who is leading in front with the press of a button. When traversing through BeanBean’s overworld or one of its attractions, each brother has a distinctive set of skills that complement each other on a relatively equal pairing. Luigi leaps onto Mario’s back to propel both of them above high reaches, while Mario positions himself on Luigi’s shoulders like a totem pole to whirl across platforms for a brief period. Hammers, a Mario weapon that only seems to be compulsory for his RPG excursions, are given to both brothers to smash large, intrusive rocks on the field. The more interesting part is the brothers using the hammers on each other, with Luigi flattening Mario like a pancake to eke through small crevices and Mario returning the favor to Luigi by bonking him beneath the ground to creep under gates and such. Mario can also drink a copious amount of water to the point where he becomes engorged like Spongebob, and Luigi expunges all the excess water weight by making Mario spit it out with his hammer. An island oasis society off the coast teaches Luigi the power of electricity and Mario the power of fire without the usual flower attached to power orbs and light candles. Like with the hammers, the brothers can use their respective elemental powers on each other, with Luigi sticking Mario to him with static and Mario literally lighting a fire under Luigi’s ass. The brothers also use their field dynamic in a series of mini-games that range in both fun and challenge, with the most demanding being the barrel one conducted by what appears to be the skeletal remains of Donkey Kong (who can somehow talk). Luigi never feels secondary to Mario at any point.

The dynamic between Mario and Luigi also translates onto the battlefield. Superstar Saga’s initial approach to the battles borrows from Earthbound, with enemies on the field that can get an advantage over the player if they run at them from behind, or a counter advantage if Mario or Luigi attacks them first. Once a fight is engaged, Mario and Luigi run parallel to the enemy, with Mario always situated in the top left corner and Luigi at the bottom left. The brother’s selection of attacks mirrors that of Paper Mario’s, as a wheel presents the options to jump on an enemy or use the hammer to attack, with a timed pressing of their designated button to deal more damage. Badge points are still present, but here they take the form of “Bros. Attacks” that involve using both brothers in unison for an especially powerful maneuver. Executing one of these takes practice as the button timing requires steep precision. Speaking of steep precision, the true marvel of the RPG combat in the Mario & Luigi series is the defense mechanic. In every RPG, there is an inherent rule that the player will take some amount of damage from the opposing side, as little as it sometimes might be. In Superstar Saga, every attack from the opposition can be avoided by jumping over them and their projectiles or countered with the hammer. As revolutionary as this might seem, Mario and Luigi’s abilities to circumvent any hazards do not make Superstar Saga facile. Extreme practice and familiarity with enemies are needed to fully utilize this feature, and that is what makes the combat in Superstar Saga so invigorating. A JRPG that fosters a high-skill ceiling that doesn’t require grinding? The next thing you’ll tell me is that the US is going to elect the first openly gay president next year. Paper Mario made the typical RPG combat more fun and interactive, but Superstar Saga rockets that idea into the stratosphere. Unfortunately, constantly mitigating damage with dodging allows some boss battles to overstay their welcome at times.

Even if the player has the reflexes of a drunk sloth, the game doesn’t punish the player too harshly in combat. The difficulty curve in Superstar Saga is incredibly consistent, and the only time it wasn’t was upon encountering the goomba-tanooki crossbreeds in the field away from the objective. I’d like to say this is because the game is impeccably balanced, but I’m afraid this isn’t the case. Besides the frequent bombings on their capital, the BeanBean Kingdom is doing just fine and dandy considering their profusion of resources. Healing items such as mushrooms, nuts, syrups, and status-ailing herbs are so commonplace that my inventory was stocked in multiples of hundreds at some point. Failing to hop over an enemy’s attack in battle ultimately didn’t matter because I could always take a turn to heal and have the other brother work on the offensive. Even at a point where my items were thinning, BeanBean’s evidently booming economy allowed me to replenish all the items I expunged during battle without breaking the bank. I can’t criticize a Mario game too harshly for being too easy considering the overall accessible appeal of the franchise. Still, with the defense mechanics at hand, I wish the player could raise the stakes of error during battle.

Near the end, I guess my wish for Superstar Saga to become more challenging came true, even if it was unexpected. Upon seeing an unconscious Bowser, the spirit of a defeated Cackletta possesses Bowser and forms an unholy fusion of the two villains called Bowletta. Superstar Saga capitalized on what Bowser would look like with tits far before Bowsette but without ANY of the sex appeal. Somehow, fusing with Bowser’s body gives Cackletta control over Bowser’s castle, which is floating over BeanBean with Peach in captivity (of fucking course). Like most other Mario games, Bowser’s castle is the climactic end to the plumber's adventure. In Superstar Saga’s case, Bowser’s fiery domain also presents a difficulty spike as sharp as the ones on Bowser’s backside. Enemy attacks become heavily unpredictable to the point where avoiding them can be based entirely on luck alone, and the steroid versions of the Hammer Bros. hit like a tank with Magikoopas healing their already stocky health pools. I had not died up until this point in the game, and now I was carrying a defeated Mario or Luigi on the back of the conscious brother who was hanging on by a thread. Facing Cackletta in Bowser’s throne room was the most taxing boss fight in the game by a stark hundred miles. Her first form is a quick bout of damage output that will end quickly but once she dupes the brothers with a bomb and vacuums them into her stomach, the real final fight against her soul begins. I implore everyone reading this to time their fight against this giant phantom because I guarantee it will take more than fifteen minutes to defeat. Her attacks become fairly predictable through constant use, but the long process of revealing her weak point just for her to heal and obscure it from view approximately seven or more times makes for an endurance test guaranteed to make the player exhausted. I understand that the climax of any game should offer its pinnacle challenge, but the game pushes the player into the deep end after they’ve been doggy paddling in the shallow end all this time.

After playing Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga for the first time in the two decades I’ve observed it from a distance, my slight curiosity has blossomed into pure admiration. By using Paper Mario and a healthy dose of the top-down Zelda games as its inspiration, Superstar Saga crafts another exceptional Mario RPG that is as subversive as the other contemporary Mario subseries. Still, I still prefer Paper Mario, and that’s probably nostalgia blinding my perceptions. Now, I don’t know if I can earnestly compare the two because Superstar Saga deviates heavily enough to warrant completely different comparisons, almost like Superstar Saga isn’t just handheld Paper Mario after all. Superstar Saga is a wackier JRPG depiction of a Mario quest with the most engaging fight mechanics I've played in a JRPG. It's unfortunate that its genius level of innovation eventually blew up on the player in the end. Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga is a whole different beast in itself, and that's what makes it so refreshing. Luigi finally gets his time to shine.

BioShock 2 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/8/2023)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

BioShock 2

Developer: 2K Marin

Publisher: 2K Games

Genre(s): First-Person Shooter

Platforms: PC, Xbox 360, PS3

Release Date: February 9, 2010

With BioShock being a smashing success in gaming’s most seminal year of 2007, the prospect of a sequel was inevitable. However, from an artistic standpoint, it was argued that there was no stone unturned in Andrew Ryan’s idyllic, decayed dystopia of Rapture after the events of the first game. Via the perspective of Jack, the player scrounged about the drowned metropolis and uncovered the full extent of its biblical downfall and the context of Jack’s personal placement in the lore of its ghastly history. A substantial factor in the effectiveness of the sublime underwater setting was the sense of mystique that unraveled once the player progressed through its withered, neon-lit corridors. Jack was forced through the most circuitous means of exiting Rapture, hence why the player most likely should’ve gained a learned experience of the Rapture during the ordeal. Since we’ve already been given the grand tour of Rapture (albeit in the least welcoming way imaginable), why would 2K feel the need to grace us with yet another excursion around the city? Money: the short answer is money. Like any other acclaimed release, 2K wanted to take advantage of BioShock’s overwhelming commendation while the iron was still hot, even if releasing a sequel conflicted with the core of why everyone was commending the game. “BioShock is a work of art”, a summation of the game’s exceptional quality written so frequently that putting the conclusive blurb in quotes is meant to highlight its enigmatic ubiquity. While BioShock was not the first video game that featured plot twists and notable philosophical constructs interwoven in the fabric of its world and narrative ethos, it benefited greatly from being designed as a first-person shooter during the genesis point of the genre’s time in the commercial limelight. To the masses, BioShock was something of a high-brow FPS game, even if immersive sim veterans that played System Shock knew that the game was lacking in the gameplay depth department compared to its PC predecessor. Still, BioShock’s accolades were deserved on the merit of its world-building, lore, and storytelling, three aspects that a sequel usually fails to retain its impact because it uses all of the strengths of the first game as an easy crutch. The only way that BioShock 2 could prove its worth as a sequel is by offering an experience that was radically original, and it certainly didn’t do that.

Firstly, BioShock 2 fails to inspire any new sense of awe and intrigue because its setting is still Rapture. The sunken society already went through the rigor mortis process before Jack arrived, and his frenzied adventure through this corpse of a city abused its dilapidated foundation to the point where it’s unrecognizable. BioShock 2 revisits this dead metropolis with a similar sense of shamelessness as a necrophiliac, defiling all notions of a once marvelous spectacle for the sake of familiarity. However, the developers have pulled what Team Silent did for subsequent visitations to Silent Hill in that franchise's sequels to keep the freshness in using the same setting. BioShock 2 features a whole new slew of levels conveniently districted off from each area from the first game. We thought the ones from the first game provided a detailed crash course history into the lore of Rapture, but each area of BioShock 2 attempts to expound on the underwater civilization’s history even more. “Siren Alley” is Rapture’s red-light district and considering all the women of the night here are gnarly, gangly Splicers with most of their teeth and skin missing, it erases any arousal associated with its implications. The outer area of the Persephone district is a high-security prison to hold Rapture’s criminally insane and their political malcontents, while the exterior of the area is a hospital designated for those prisoners. “Fontaine Futuristics” is the heart of the first game’s main antagonist lucrative plasmid operation, and “Ryan Amusements” is a propagandist amusement park meant to deter Rapture’s children from the “horrifying” surface world while they take part in carnival merriment. In reality, this level I mentioned sounds more interesting on paper than it really is in execution. These new districts of Rapture comprise areas that have intriguing premises, but they lack the gravitas of those from the first game. Compare “Dionysus Park” to “Fort Frolic,” two areas with a similar connection to Rapture’s artistic endeavors, and the former falter on all fronts. Sander Cohen’s theatrical monument of his madness was a distinctive destination that encapsulated me and most others with its majestic, yet unnerving spectacle. Even for the other areas that weren’t as explicitly dominated by one of Rapture’s forsaken figures, their presence was still a driving force in the area they occupied. This area’s significance is explained by Sofia Lamb or Sinclair signaling in exposition to the player, which is the same for every other area in BioShock 2. The game’s progression is as tied down to further the story as a titanium anchor, and the fact that a one-way transit system is a vehicle to travel to these places without ever returning to the previous area. BioShock 2 doesn’t let the player breathe and let the oppressive atmosphere of Rapture weigh on them like the pressure of roaming around the ocean floor should feel. It’s a shame considering all of these new levels had the potential to be delved into more thoroughly.

BioShock 2 may take place years after the events of the first game, but the plot conflict the story is centered around was catalyzed a few years before Jack’s eventful plunge. BioShock 2’s protagonist is a Big Daddy, but not one of the lumbering, moaning tanks seen in the first game. “Delta” is a prototype Big Daddy that is taller and more limber than his bulkier counterparts, and his claim to fame is being the first of his kind to form a bond with a Little Sister as her violent protector. On New Year's Eve 1958, Delta is forced to provoke his wrath on a group of Splicers who thirst for the delectable ADAM that his Little Sister houses. During the scuffle, a stern-looking bespectacled lady somehow possesses the will to force this scuba-geared brute to submit to kill himself by shooting himself in the head with a pistol, with his Little Sister looking on in complete shock and horror. Nine years later, Delta reawakens from his decade-spanning coma from the power of another Little Sister, and his mission is to reunite with his original Little Sister by turning over every nook and cranny in Rapture.

The introduction sets the scene for the whole game effectively enough, but there is a Big Daddy-sized elephant in the room pertaining to the source of the game’s conflict. Sofia Lamb, BioShock 2’s main antagonist, is not simply Eleanor’s jilted mother saving her daughter from the twisted Little Sister system that besets so many of Rapture’s female youths. She’s as crucial a figure in Rapture’s history as Andrew Ryan and Frank Fontaine, or at least the game would have you believe she is. In fact, she’s been appointed the leader of Rapture after Jack bludgeoned its founder with a golf club and also ousted the competitor that led him to do so , so one can infer that she’s been lurking around Rapture’s flooded corners for quite some time. The game will have us convinced that Sofia Lamb didn’t need to make her presence in the first game due to her being irrelevant to the power struggle between Ryan and Fontaine, even if she managed to plant herself on the throne at her utmost convenience smoothly. However, in a game whose setting is given context through the lore journals of the figures that built and broke Rapture, one would think that a person among the essential elder statesmen would at least be mentioned once in the first game. Hell, the southern Sinclair and esteemed scientist Gil Alexander, two prominent characters in BioShock 2, are spoken of in the first game’s audio logs if one pays close attention. The developers obviously shoehorned in the game’s primary villain that they conjured up on the spot when a sequel was announced. Any character even whispered as a footnote in the first game could’ve been a suitable main antagonist, elucidating more on Rapture’s history that could have center-stage prominence in a sequel. As an antagonist regardless of her sudden appearance, Sofia Lamb in the position of the city’s ruler doesn’t evoke the same sense of omniscient dread as Andrew Ryan did. I guess a city formulated by philosophies of utilitarianism doesn’t spell out the same harrowing potential of Ryan’s objectivism.

Either that or BioShock’s atmosphere doesn’t exude the same feeling of overwhelming dread because playing as a Big Daddy compromises on that “stranger in a strange land” perspective that marked Jack’s adventure. Using Resident Evil as a prime example, controlling someone of a stronger disposition than the average Joe tends to reduce all of the horrors into cannon fodder for their eclectic arsenal. However, the player will find that playing as Delta isn’t too dissimilar to playing as Jack. The additional weight of a Big Daddy’s suit is not a gameplay detriment, and that fish-eye lens of the scuba helmet that clogged the player’s peripheral vision in that climactic section of the first game is only visible in the corners. The player has the option to remove any trace of the helmet from their view in the game’s menu. Many of the same weapons that Jack used to defend himself from the ADAM-addled Splicers return for Delta, but seemingly only the high-octane ones that blaze through enemies in seconds. The machine gun, the shotgun, and the explosive launcher cement their roles as the most effective tools of destruction. The crossbow has been refashioned as a spear gun with its own alternate ammo, and Big Daddy’s trademark industrial-strength arm drill has replaced the piddly wrench as the melee weapon. The only new and unique addition to the armed, steampunk collective is the Rivet Gun, which functions as a nail gun with the power to kill a gorilla if being shot at by the Rosy variant of Big Daddys from the first game didn’t already make that clear enough. If the surprisingly swift movement of playing as a Big Daddy doesn’t immerse the player into the role, the reduction of all the “wuss weapons” that Jack carried around, along with the redundant Chemical Thrower, will make the player feel practically impervious. My only wish is that the developers could’ve brainstormed some new plasmids to diversify the methods of Splicer murder. Adding only the Drill and Rivet Gun to the selection of weapons may seem sparse, but the developers didn’t even bother to implement new ones into the mix, and only omitted the handy “Sonic Boom” plasmid. The only smidge of difference is combining the “Enrage” and “Hypnotize Big Daddy” plasmids for a minute quality of life enhancement. Still, I surely thought that a Big Daddy would possess some unique plasmid types to use.

BioShock also brings many other quality-of-life improvements to the table that makes the gameplay much smoother and more accessible. If the game insists on wearing the first game’s identity like a heated space blanket, then the developers should at least improve on the first game’s nitpicks with the advantage of hindsight that comes with a direct sequel. While a Big Daddy does not have a varied range of new plasmids at his disposal, one thing he can do beyond Jack’s capabilities is dual-wield the plasmids and firearms in combat. Gone are the days of alternating between both arms, using the elemental forces as supplementary means of support to blasting enemies with a barrage of bullets and explosives. Charging up “Electro-Bolt '' or “Incinerate” to deal with a chain reaction like Delta is The Emperor from Star Wars or a fire-breathing dragon is satisfyingly deadly. Hacking the water-damaged machines scattered around Rapture only requires a reaction-time intensive mini-game, and accurately timing the compass needle on the blue and green bars will generously reward the player with free items along with the manual discount. Delta’s toolkit also comes with a remote hacking weapon that shoots a dart from a distance to trigger the hacking mini-game, which of course is convenient for dealing with security cameras and turrets. As someone who didn’t mind connecting the pipes in the first game, I still can’t deny that the simpler, streamlined approach that doesn’t completely halt the game’s pacing is objectively better. The research camera that took informative polaroids of enemies has been upgraded to the 20th century with a film camera that directs the targeted enemy for a short time and grades the player on their methods of disposal. Film in this camera also can’t be exhausted, so the player is no longer required to buy film at a dispensary. Quality of life improvements are indisputably the quintessential perk of BioShock 2, yet the developers still forgot to add any consequence to dying. The Vita-Chambers will continue to resurrect the player without even requiring a small fee for their troubles. The enemy that knocked the player to the ground will now have a small amount of their health replenished, but this can be easily reduced.

If you couldn’t infer from BioShock 2’s plot premise, the Little Sister and Big Daddy dynamic that the player had the option to entertain in the first game is front and center in the narrative. Despite his role as a Big Daddy, Delta is still faced with the same opportunities to free the young girls from the clutches of his peers or reduce them to nothing but their coveted cores similar to Jack. One core difference this optional mechanic presents as opposed to Jack is that Delta can adopt a Little Sister before exercising them and dropping them off at the pipelines in the walls, or at least if they are inclined not to harvest them. The Little Sister will adorably ride on Delta’s shoulder like a little girl would do with an adult parental figure, and it’s adorable. Still, I wish they would refer to me as “Mr. B” like all the other Big Daddys instead of “Daddy” because of the eerily kinky implications. Porn has done a number on my brain, I tell ya. More so than a prop or trophy, carrying around a Little Sister gives Delta the opportunity to gather more ADAM from a select number of corpses strewn across the map. The process mirrors that of the climactic point of the first game when Jack posed as a Big Daddy, with Splicers ambushing the poor girl and killing her on sight. However, this is much more manageable because the player can prepare before setting the Little sister down to go to work on the body. I consider this voluntary excursion to be another quality-of-life improvement because the game doesn’t punish me for my moral decision to save the Little Sisters, and the much-needed high quantity of ADAM for tonics and plasmids can be supplemented through this action.

The types of Splicers, along with the weapons, have been somewhat reduced. Apparently, this district of Rapture encompasses the territory of the Leadhead and Houdini Splicers, with the new addition of the hulked-out Brute Splicer to charge at Delta and throw debris at him. Alpha Series Big Daddys will appear later in the game as hostile enemy types without the accompaniment of a Little Sister, and they’re much less resilient than the advanced models we are used to fighting. Each of these enemies still invades the dank halls of Rapture’s remnants, but the variation is a little lacking. The one standout new enemy type that strikes fear in the hearts of the player as the Big Daddies do is the Big Sisters: the gender-swapped, lankier version of the Big Daddy. One of these deep-sea ladies kidnaps the Little Sister that resurrected Delta at the beginning, and confronting her is not a facile duel. In fact, I’d say that the Big Sisters are much more formidable foes than their male counterparts due to their lightning-fast agility along with hitting Delta like a Mack truck. After the first encounter with one, they’ll keep appearing after Delta saves every Little Sister in an area, signaled by a shriek so shrill that it blurs the screen. I don’t understand why the Big Sisters insist on attacking me after I liberate the Little Sisters from their possessed state of being, considering that they are adult versions of Little Sisters themselves. I never chose to harvest a single Little Sister in my playthrough, so perhaps they attack Delta whether or not he exhibits strong moral fiber. Maybe the Big Sister can’t help but be hysterical (that’s the game being sexist, not me).

Speaking of adult Little Sisters, the game’s plot really begins to unfold as soon as Eleanor makes her first contact with Delta after their ten-year-long hiatus. We learn of Delta’s origin as he was forced to become a Big Daddy when Andrew Ryan intercepted the suspicion that he was a spy from the surface world. The tip-off came from a Rapture lothario named Stanley Poole, who the player has the choice of killing or sparing out of forgiveness upon learning this revelation. It’s important to keep choices like these in mind because they directly affect the outcome of the six possible endings. Once Delta finally makes his way to Eleanor’s chamber, Sofia Lamb severs their bond by smothering Eleanor with a pillow, thus rendering Delta unconscious as a result. Eleanor sends another Little Sister to Delta’s rescue once again and after he regains consciousness. The duo reunites with Eleanor now donning the age-appropriate Big Sister outfit, and Delta can sic her on Splicers and the Alpha series Daddies with one of the only new plasmids that the game offers. Sinclair, the man who has been directing Delta towards the course of freedom, is transformed into a Big Daddy by Sofia Lamb and must be disposed of to stop Delta and Eleanor from using his escape pod. A tenacious Sofia Lamb floods the area and leaves Delta mortally wounded as a result. This final resolution in the narrative can ignite a myriad of different possibilities. As mentioned before, not only will saving the Little Sisters coincide with how the game resolves, but there are also three notable figures involved. Naturally, the bad ending in which a spurned Eleanor leaves with your powers out of spite occurs when you do nothing but harvest the Little Sisters. The good ending involves Eleanor preserving Delta’s consciousness for a lifelong bond between them, and the neutral ending is a more complicated mix of leaving Delta behind as he dies. The choices to spare the lives of Grace, Stanley, and Gil factor in whether or not Eleanor kills a drowning Sofia. The multitude of different outcomes depending on the player’s actions are far more intricate than the narrow few offered in the first game, so the stodgy critics no longer have to worry about dying of ludonarrative dysentery.

Ultimately, the substance of the plot in a BioShock game stands on pointing out the hypocrisy of the Rapture’s current leader as a scathing critique of a real-world philosophy. Sofia Lamb’s ideologies may not be as insane as Ryan’s, but she’s anything but benevolent. Her stern, schoolmarm iciness makes Nurse Ratched seem like a barrel of laughs. It’s the way that she conducts her means of utilitarianism that makes her a hypocrite. Actually, her views fall under the umbrella of a more severe ideology known as collectivism. Her whole prerogative for severing the ties between Eleanor and Delta was so she could keep Eleanor in close reach to use her as a machine for something referred to as “Utopia.” She finds nothing wrong with torturing Gil Alexander or Sinclair, or potentially killing her own daughter under the guise of her actions being for the good of the general population. It’s incredibly transparent that all she’s doing is for herself. Giving the Little Sisters their freedom as Delta infuriates her, for it exceeds her comprehension of a Big Daddy having his own free will to choose and allow the girls to escape the ADAM-driven hive mind that she desperately wishes to control. Even the antithesis of Ryan’s laissez-faire approach is shown to be the opposite side of the same coin, with one individual dominating over everyone else.

BioShock did not need a sequel, or at least it didn't from an artistic standpoint. BioShock 2 still sold like hotcakes because that is what the developers set out to do with their hot FPS trailblazer. I should lambaste BioShock 2 for merely existing as a product of capitalist opportunity, but I can’t criticize a game too harshly for its intentions. After all, every sequel is an inherent means to reap the benefits of popularity while they still can. BioShock 2’s problem is that the developers did an insultingly little amount to discern it from the first game. I’ve seen identical twins with more genetic variation than in BioShock 1 and 2. One could make the argument that Bioshock 2 is a better game from a mechanical standpoint, and I might be inclined to agree based on the number of admirable quality-of-life improvements. Still, I also can’t commend BioShock 2 for including these as its point of substance, for it’s all minuscule in the grand scheme of things. BioShock 2 couldn’t surpass the aesthetic and atmosphere, nor the gripping story of the first game, and that’s what made its predecessor a gigantic hit. Unfortunately, BioShock 2 cannot blossom under the shadow of the first BioShock, but it seems like it always wanted to be shadowed by it in the first place.

Mega Man 3 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 4/1/2023)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Mega Man 3

Developer: Capcom

Publisher: Capcom

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: NES

Release Date: September 28, 1990

If I didn’t have the future hindsight of knowing how long the Mega Man series would be prolonged to proportions that make Final Fantasy seem neatly bundled, here’s the entry where I would express how the third classic Mega Man game couldn’t have perfected the series peak of Mega Man 2 and it was time for Capcom to tie a bow on the series and bury it with the dying NES console. Alas, the series extended far beyond the days of Nintendo’s first home console, adapting to the times for years with several off-shoots and a couple of classic era renaissance titles. Eventually, Capcom themselves decided to freeze all of their Mega Man assets and leave the blue bomber behind to fester in the barges of their back catalog, resurrecting him only on occasion since. Because Capcom extended Mega Man’s lifespan past his glory days on the NES, it’s difficult to discern Mega Man 3’s place in the series, unlike Super Mario and Castlevania which had a select three games on the NES. Still, Mega Man 3 isn’t entirely an outlier from the third entry of other franchises simply due to Capcom lengthening the number of examples to use as a frame of reference when evaluating Mega Man’s evolution. Mega Man 3 is still a fading ring after the mighty crescendo of Mega Man 2, even if its predecessor did admittedly have some glaring flaws that needed to be addressed. However, the developers had established enough of an integral gameplay identity over the three titles so as not to repeat the same mistakes from the first game. Even with adding plenty of attributes like a standard sequel would, Mega Man 3 is still surprisingly rougher than Mega Man 2.

Let me preface Mega Man 3’s new plot premise with this statement: Dr Light. is an idiot. I understand that Capcom needed to make an effort to keep Dr. Wily as the central antagonist of the series by writing more roundabout ways to ignite his devious schemes other than on an evil whim. Still, the old man can’t be this naive to let Dr. Wily collaborate on a project involving a giant mech, along with the upkeep of eight conveniently numbered robots to assist in the labor. Batman may leave the Joker groveling at his defeat out of mercy instead of exterminating the pest, but he’d certainly never invite him into the Batcave to play with all the various doodads. We have to wonder if Mega Man keeps Wily alive after thwarting so many of his attempts of world domination to elongate his role as a heroic adventurer. It beats cleaning Dr. Light’s toilets like his sister, that’s for damn sure. Anyways, to no one's surprise except for the possibly senile Dr. Light, Wily takes the blueprints for their Gamma project and corrupts all eight Robot Masters. Once again, Mega Man has to venture off to defeat all eight of the Robot Masters and stop Wily from becoming the ruler of the future, even if I’d argue that he’s partially to blame for nonchalantly standing aside and letting it happen.

The changes Mega Man 3 makes to the blue bomber’s gameplay are relatively minor. However, the few advancements it does make persisted indefinitely as requisite staples relating to the blue bombers' identity. By pressing the jump button while holding down on the D-pad, Mega Man will execute a slide move. Mega Man will make the same pixelated gaping expression as he does while jumping, and the motion of the slide move is smooth and responsive. A part of me wishes that Mega Man could accelerate through levels by sliding instead of being halted back to his normal momentum after one move, but I suppose throwing caution to the wind in Mega Man’s stages would be libel to kill him. Mega Man’s slide maneuver is impressively utilized many times across each level of the game. He’ll mostly slide beneath narrow crevices, sometimes timing his movements to avoid a chain of hazards like the industrial needles in Needle Man’s stage. Those bulky hopping robots from the first game return, but not as damage sponges to stall Mega Man before he enters a Robot Master’s chamber. In Mega Man 3, one leap off the ground from these mechanical moon shoes is enough to mitigate their encounter with the slide. Mega Man has been given a platforming mechanic that is both unique and practical, a true stride in innovation for the character.

The other change is more at face value but is still significant nonetheless. Capcom decided to spruce up the three platforming gadgets by reimagining them as the loveable, slobbering Rush. Everyone says that dogs are a man’s best friend, so Capcom thought the same adage should extend to robot men as well. As I previously stated, Rush as a concept is simply to give a repeated Mega Man mechanic some personality, whether or not they were in desperate need of some in the first place. In saying this, Mega Man’s canine companion is equipped with some functions unseen in the previous game. Rush’s default ability is the Rush Coil, in which hopping on the buoyant screw on his back will give Mega Man a single jump boost. Rush Jet is a hoverboard extension of the second item from the previous game/the magnet beam, and the Rush Marine is an underwater vessel that carries Mega Man through the drink. As functional as Rush is with each of these, some are greatly underutilized. Rush Jet can of course be used to gloss over the tedium of some platforming sections, and Rush Coil will be frequently equipped for reaching the heights of planted E-Tanks and extra lives. The Rush Marine, however, is only useful for one section of Gemini Man’s stage, and it’s arguable if it makes the calamitous pit of water easier to traverse through. Regardless of Rush’s sporadic utility, how can I be harsh to this metallic pooch? He’s still a good boy.

Across all of Mega Man 3’s stages, one might notice the exponential increase in visual detail. In three games on the NES, it is now evident that the Mega Man series has hit a graphical stride, showing how far the series has come since the blank backgrounds and the colored blocks that composed the first game, and we’re still using the hardware of the NES to display it. Funny enough, all it took for the developers to achieve a more immersive look is to implement finer detail in the colored blocks. The descent down Shadow Man’s sewer shows the dim, dankness of the underground construction among the radiant flow of lava. Snake Man’s graphical blocks in its foreground visually represent the intricate scales of the green serpent its Robot Master is themed after. Hard Man’s (reserve all of your immature snickerings for the end of this review) stage exhibits the rocky crevices of a cavern, and Needle Man’s metropolis rooftops exude a sense of a futuristic adventure with a visible cityscape in the background. Gemini Man’s stage is a surreal spectacle, using the strobe light effect from Flash Man’s stage to illuminate this strange, embryonic cave. Top Man’s stage is the most peculiar because its greenhouse stage shares the least commonality with its Robot Master. Would a Hanukkah-themed level be considered too racy? I’d prefer something like that because while the stages in Mega Man 3 look astounding, the range of level diversity is a bit lacking. The theme of Spark Man, Needle Man, and Magnet Man ultimately boils down to traversing through a factory with a different aesthetic and enemies.

Who can we blame for Mega Man 3’s seemingly formulaic level theming? Apparently, it's the fans. Capcom enlisted the creative efforts of Mega Man’s fans to craft the game’s core bosses, and the chosen few out of several hundred submissions came to fruition. Evidently, at this point, the elemental powers that shaped the Robot Masters of the first two Mega Man games became stale, and breaking out a thesaurus to find similar words to “fire” and “bubble” would’ve been lazy. The selection Capcom filtered through is more eclectic than those they previously came up with, but it does admittedly make the ordered trajectory of defeating them more difficult to process. Another factor of this that isn’t the fault of the fans is how shoddily executed many of the Robot Master’s weapons are. Of course, we can’t expect something as holy and divine as the Metal Blade for each iteration of Mega Man. Shadow Man’s blade serves as a fine surrogate, but it can only be thrown in five directions instead of eight. Unfortunately, a poor man’s Metal Blade is probably the best weapon featured here. The Spark Shock paralyzes enemies like the Ice Slasher, but Mega Man can’t change his weapon to even his standard blaster until the shock effect wears off. The Gemini Laser suffers from the same awkward utilization, as Mega Man must also wait until the beam stops ricocheting off the walls to fire another ray or switch weapons. The Hard Knuckle is too girthy (oh lord) to use on most enemies, and the Needle Cannon is basically the blaster that depletes the energy meter. I feel sorry for whoever submitted Top Man because his Top Spin is a laughably useless joke that does more damage to Mega Man than the enemy. I used the Metal Blade most of the time in Mega Man 2 because I wanted to, but here, I use the Shadow Blade and the blaster due to a lack of substantial alternatives.

Not only will the player find more difficulties in figuring out the weapon-related weaknesses of Mega Man 3’s Robot Masters, but they’ll also have to wrack their brains in translating this game’s weapons to the bosses of Mega Man 2. Before Wily’s Castle, Mega Man must trek through four additional stages comprising geographical locales of the main stages. In each of these four stages are two different bosses from the previous game, whose spirit floats down into a generic Robot Master avatar. Not only did I fail to see the point in reoffering Mega Man 2’s bosses in this slog of a section, but I disagree with the way these stages progress. One familiar Mega Man 2 boss encounter happens at a halfway point and if Mega Man dies, the defeat of the first Robot Master will not initiate a checkpoint. It seems rather harsh to force the player on a test of endurance after defeating a boss, considering this was always a penultimate achievement that ended the level up until this point. That, and they also have to flip through their arsenal to find a weak point and wish for the best, considering that the logic behind defeating the Robot Masters made for these weapons is shaky as it is. As for Wily’s Castle, the real climax of any Mega Man game, it's comparatively more underwhelming. The only shock here that hit me over the head like a whizzing dodgeball was the return of my old nemesis, The Yellow Devil, in a fight that mirrored the same one from the first game that made my first playthrough of the first game come to a screeching halt. Fortunately, even without the saving grace of the pause glitch, gulping down a six-pack of energy tanks was an option I took that wasn’t available in the first game.

Most people claim that all of Mega Man 3’s cumbrous elements as listed above are due to the game suffering from a rushed development time. However, I am puzzled by this revelation because the Mega Man 2 boss rush seems like an augmentation that took valuable development time to implement rather than something that wasn’t finished. The one point of consideration in contextualizing Mega Man 3’s feeling of being misshapen can be traced to one new element. At certain points in a select few Robot Master stages, Mega Man will stop in his tracks at the sounds of a western-esque whistle. This catchy sound is the theme of a red robot of Mega Man’s relative stature who dons a shield, a sharp scarf, and a pair of shades. He’ll proceed to duel Mega Man with little intimidation because his jumping pattern and bullet spread are highly predictable. Once Mega Man reaches the end and defeats a corrupted Gamma controlled by Dr. Wily, the mysterious vagabond that interrupted Mega Man’s pacing in the Robot Master’s levels rescues Mega Man after a cube of garbage falls on him. After Mega Man regains consciousness in Dr. Light’s lab, he explains to Mega Man that the being that has been pursuing him is “Protoman,” the prototype of Mega Man created first by Dr. Light. Protoman made a valiant sacrifice in rescuing his younger brother, but all I saw was the escort after Mega Man had been hit. In fact, most of the exposition involving Protoman is told in the game’s manual. If I had to guess, the mystery element in the game’s narrative was the factor that stressed the development period. If it had been fully composed, perhaps it would piece together all of the other attributes of Mega Man 3 that don’t make sense.

The classic Mega Man series on the NES is clearly one that is defined by its repeated idiosyncrasies. Mega Man 3 adds plenty to Mega Man’s foundation and while it’s nice that Mega Man can slide and he has a trusty animal sidekick at his aid, it doesn’t do all too much to elevate the series. Choosing between eight levels with themes based around their bosses and then trekking up to Dr. Wily in his towering domain is what defines Mega Man. Mega Man 3 is the entry in which Capcom realized that Mega Man had a tried and true formula, but they couldn’t let the series lose its luster so quickly. Even if their attempts at invigorating the same plot with a mystery character succeeded, I’m not sure the NES could support that kind of narrative. All the same, it’s nice to see that Mega Man 3 still marks a time when Capcom was willing to change up the familiarities of the blue bomber, and that effort translates well regardless of its faults.

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Hehe. Hard Man. Hehe.