Bomb Rush Cyberfunk Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 9/7/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Bomb Rush Cyberfunk

Developer: Team Reptile

Publisher: Team Reptile

Genre(s): 3D Platformer, Sports

Platforms: PC, PS4, Xbox One, Switch, PS5, XSX

Release Date: August 18, 2023

Spiritual successors are the future of gaming. I hate to rain on the parades of eager gamers that tend to be less cynical than I am, but I need to make something crystal clear to them: major gaming studios do not give a flying fuck about resurrecting one of their dormant IPs to please you. Even though you and a fairly sizeable quantity of loyal fans would pay top dollar for the chance to experience a new entry in whichever bygone franchise that is festering in their archives like a rotting corpse, you and your friends ultimately still fall into a minority demographic that isn’t worth the time, effort, or budget to spend appeasing. The video game industry is…well, an industry whose primary focus is turning the largest sum of profit with their products. Releasing something from a niche IP that has statistically underperformed in the past will not garner the desired results despite your vociferous appetite as a consumer. However, a portion of these jilted gamers are game developers themselves, and their deferred cravings will inspire them to fill in the hole with the wet cement of an original IP that apes the fabric of the inactive IP. Titles and names of characters are protected under copyright law, but ideas and conceptual makeup are not. This liberal borrowing of a retired video game IP’s constitution has produced a number of exceptional titles over the past few years. Bug Fables exceptionally fed me that nutritious, full-course Paper Mario meal after Nintendo had been stuffing shit down my throat for over a decade, and Undertale captures the lo-fi, bizarre, yet tender (and sometimes horrifying) wackiness of Earthbound that no game ever dared to replicate beforehand. In the case of Bomb Rush Cyberfunk’s existence, someone was evidently hankering for Sega’s Jet Set (Grind) Radio series. As of writing this review, I haven’t played Jet Set Radio or its sequel, for both titles are confined to two different consoles that I never owned. On equal par with those who experienced this game’s inspiration, Bomb Rush Cyberfunk also functions as an opportunity to get acquainted with Jet Set’s unique thread of idiosyncrasies for those who are unseasoned like I. Bomb Rush Cyberfunk satiates my hunger for a Jet Set-esque game, but it doesn’t quite quell my curiosities pertaining to its source material.

I suppose what piqued my interest in Jet Set Radio was its attitude, aesthetic, and unadulterated panache. To harp on the first descriptive word mentioned, BRC revels in Jet Set’s ethos of “sticking it to the man.” Society at large is a bureaucratic beast that squashes all forms of creativity and individualistic expression into a depressing gray paste of conformity. The premise sounds bleakly dystopian, but can we not honestly concede that our Western, first-world government positions its authoritative boots on the necks of our artistic potential? Fortunately, BRC’s world runs rampant with hipster freedom fighters who brazenly reject society’s rules and regulations. They spit in the face of the greater establishment with their strides of externalizing the deepest recesses of the soul with vehicular sports equipment, nimble hip-hop dancing, and, most importantly, graffiti art graphics that they tag with spray paint all across their urban environment. Obviously, BRC’s police force sees all of this liberal gallivanting as impudent acts of transgression, so they work around the clock apprehending these “writers,” the self-imposed term that these vandals call themselves, and caging them in cell blocks so dull and constrictive that it’ll sap all of their vigor. How naive they are to assume that their equally unruly friends wouldn’t have the gumption to break them out of their confinements, which is exactly what occurs in the game’s introduction sequence. BRC begins with the jailbreak of Faux and Tryce. The former character has a glowing reputation as one of the most prolific “writers” on the scene, and the latter character wishes to recruit him as a member of his gang once they elude captivity. Besides the direct opposition of a jetpack-powered police captain, they both manage to escape the grounds of the prison relatively unscathed. That is until a masked man dressed in stately garb decapitates Faux with a vinyl record. This event would naturally signal an abrupt end for the person whom we likely perceived as the game’s protagonist, but he miraculously reawakens with a new cybernetic cranium that is as red as a Japanese sunrise. With the help of Tryce and his bubbly female ally Bel, the freshly assembled Bombrush crew is ready to conquer all of the rival gang factions around New Amsterdam and find the whereabouts of Faux’s misplaced, organic noggin in the process. Much of BRC’s plot requires a suspension of disbelief to swallow, but I’ll be damned if it doesn’t pump up my mood for youthful defiance.

The perfect word to describe BRC’s presentation is “funkadelic.” Yes, I realize that this is not a word recognized by any pressing of Webster’s English Dictionary and that is it the name of a funk rock band from the 1970s. Still, if we analyze the two descriptive words as a portmanteau, it’s the only fitting term for the fusion of styles that BRC displays. Before the offshoot of disco congested the dance club scene of the 1970s with its glittery corniness, the earlier days of the decade saw funk music blasting over people’s stereos as the dominant sound to truly release one’s inhibitions. The appeal of funk music is that its grooves are so infectious that they’ll hypnotize your body no matter the surrounding scene. Not only that, but the downright dirty hooks can tap into a primal urge that can verge into the sexual. BRC’s content doesn’t quite tap into that realm, but the unrepressed feeling of funk music drenches BRC’s atmosphere. That devil-may-care elatedness is exuded in the characters' interactions and general demeanor, also influencing the type of artwork they splatter on the brick exteriors of buildings. The psychedelic portion of BRC’s presentational flair relates to the fact that the game’s visuals are highly exaggerated thanks to the vibrant cel-shaded graphics. Every color on a character’s outfit to the glowing contrast of the robin egg blue sky in the foreground is a vivacious splendor for everyone’s senses–so much so that the player will blink profusely as if their sensory perception is being manipulated. Hallucinogenic drugs are perceived as a gateway to the apex of human enlightenment, creativity, and unbounded intellectual capacity to escape the mundanity of reality, so perhaps BRC’s radical visual fidelity taps into this tenet of psychedelia. Take Timothy Leary’s word for it. Add a spoonful of hip-hop culture’s swagger, DIY ethics, and underdog leanings and BRC encapsulates all audible substances that influence people to tear the roof off the sucker. The roof of order and discipline, that is.

The term “funkadelic” is also applicable to BRC because the game’s city map looks as if bass player Bootsy Collins was employed as New Amsterdam’s city planning coordinator. It’s hard to believe that the status quo the city’s police are hellbent on preserving is straight edge and orderly, for it seems as if New Amsterdam inherently facilitates the effervescent inclinations of its supposed “reprobates.” The billboards display lively works of art even before the BRC crew plants their various insignias onto it, and there are solid sculptures surrounding the New Amsterdam streets as well as hanging from the ceiling of Millenium Square’s megamall. Taking the time to stop and smell the roses around New Amsterdam will reveal retail stores that cater to the wares of coffee, records, and stylishly youthful clothing. New Amsterdam is one nation under the spell of a groove, so it's no wonder a large percentage of its denizens dedicate their livelihood to freelance street art. It’s a city so hip that it makes Portland resemble the en masse uniformity of Pyongyang. Not only is each area of New Amsterdam distinctive due to its color schemes, but the construction never repeats itself. Versum Hill is elevated to support the railcar track that loops around the district, Millenium Mall is a spacious monolith of commerce entirely indoors, and Pyramid Island is a vertical barge located a mile offshore of the nameless ocean. Mataan, the final area, postures its climactic scope with a setting that soars over the entire city and is exclusively the only area that takes place after dusk. Even the Bombrush Crew’s compact hideout is a place filled to the brim with a particular aura and design. Periodically between progression milestones, The Protagonist will experience an aneurysm that knocks him unconscious to a dream world level where the physical elements of New Amsterdam are floating in a psychedelic antimatter detached from the physics of reality. These linear series of platforms are incredibly reminiscent of the “secret” levels from Super Mario Sunshine, and they are pleasant to both play and gawk at in the infrequent instances in which they appear. New Amsterdam’s unmistakable quirkiness extends beyond its cultural identity to the architectural foundation of its various places of interest, and the world map on the whole here is wonderfully diverse.

The unifying cohesion between all of New Amsterdam’s districts is that they must consist of grind rails aplenty. Jet Set Radio’s hybrid of a 3D platformer and the ubiquity of extreme sports during the time is equally as idiosyncratic as its dazzling art style. Naturally, BRC follows its inspiration in the mechanical sense as resolutely as its pizzazz. “Red,” the new persona of the beheaded protagonist, fancies himself as a skateboarder. It’s his tool of unchained mobility to use to freely transform the entirety of New Amsterdam into his personal playground, skidding on guard rails and across the smooth surfaces of billboard signs with the utmost grace and adroitness. Bel specializes in rollerskates while Tryce burns some serious rubber on his BMX bike, so the Bombrush Mod Squad covers all bases of potentially injurious transportation sport equipment whose usage is frowned upon by authorities. While all three methods to make sparks fly from the friction of metal meeting movement differ in shape and size, their utility is identical. It’s somewhat disappointing that the three simply meld together, but the objective of BRC isn’t to learn and master the different selections of equipment. The accelerated motion that comes with all three-wheeled contraptions serves as a twist to the 3D platforming aspect. Ramps, grind rails, and billboard signs are essentially realistic platforms used to gain higher elevations throughout the city. The challenge comes with finding where a connecting chain of pathways begins while trying to retain one's balance, similar to any other 3D platformer. Accelerating the motion of movement with a skateboard or bike is also a lovely accommodation when it comes to exploration in BRC. Reaching higher ground or poking through corridors in BRC is all performed with the same objective: to get to or discover the spots that are ripe for graffiti markings or to retread over the artwork of a rival gang to topple their influence over a district and earn reputation points. Simply press the button for the limitless spray paint while in front of a graffiti piece or a space with a hazy yellow pattern and a multitude of cardinal directions will pop up. The specific zigzagging trajectory on this screen coincides with the result of the graffiti piece, and the player will unlock more routes that come with new artwork by completing challenges or finding them on the field. Whether or not it’s the gratification of being rewarded with searching or meeting a destination that was once from a distance at eye level, filling in the blank spaces or painting over another gang’s symbol is a satisfying stamp of success.

Be aware that marking one’s territory with paint is bound to alert the fuzz. BRC’s trouble meter functions similarly to the one from Grand Theft Auto. Each time the player sprays a wall with their illicit vision, the retaliation of the police force will get progressively more tenacious. A few officers will bumrush the player upon gaining one star, and then a stationary unit will pop out of the ground and unleash an onslaught of chains in what is honestly an admirable, yet flawed, advancement in police detainment technology. Eventually, upon ignoring the legal blowback with more graffiti to follow, the police force will start carrying riot gear and then attempt to flush out the player with an assemblage of attack helicopters. They’ve really focused their priorities on combating serious crime, haven’t they? Funnily enough, graffiti is the only offense they seem to care about. Spin kicking them apparently isn’t a form of assault that compounds the player’s rap sheet to a life sentence, and they’ll amusingly scurry away upon being hit one too many times as if they “got served” and have to stand down. This allows the player to defend themselves with little repercussions, but refusing to submit to incarceration exposes a glaring issue with BRC’s mechanics. BRC’s combat feels very…gelatinous. Executing the kicking maneuvers doesn’t have that “oomph factor” that most action games with combat tend to, and delivering them to adversaries feels more like punching a balloon filled with pudding than an organic life form. Even though the cops will increase the efficiency of their strike force with loaded guns at some point, firing accurately at the player will never be enough to subdue them because health regenerates so quickly. Still, the player will be scrambling for an outhouse to change their clothing and elude the authorities in this game’s depiction of GTA’s “Pay and Spray” because they are rather irksome all the same. Calling attention to the police with graffiti doesn’t provoke a harmful threat–it’s equivalent to leaving a window open and having common house flies buzz around your personal space. Given that physical combat is thankfully not the focal game mechanic in BRC, the developers should’ve scrapped it entirely or forced the player to escape the police opposition without humoring the chance of literally fighting back.

The other enemies in BRC are the rival gangs that occupy one significant district around New Amsterdam. The Bombrush Crew’s mission to go “all city” entails that they will seize the territory from each respective gang until the entire map is covered entirely in whichever color signifies their dominance. The process of annexing an area is rinsed and repeated for every new area uncovered. Getting the rival gang’s attention requires painting over a certain amount of their graffiti spots, which will then lead to individual members challenging the BRC folk to assorted duels involving their ride of choice. All of the posturing will culminate in a legitimate ranked match coordinated and refereed by the “oldheads,” elder statesmen of the “writer” ranks who resemble pruned versions of the Bombrush Crew. The ultimate challenge that decides who will rule the roost is based on which crew can accumulate the most points by executing the most flashy combo stunts in succession. The surefire method of winning every final bout is to utilize the sharp corners of every grind rail to increase the combo multiplier and to hold down the button that activates the angled manual move to prevent the streak from stagnating. If you’ve sufficiently scoured the area beforehand, taking another gang’s land from them in this ritual will be a cinch. However, the recycled process does tend to dilute the impact of victory upon subsequent gang challenges. The fact that each gang is essentially the same arrogant, braggadocious bunch despite their difference in uniforms doesn’t spice up the stakes in the slightest. What titillates me the most regarding this overarching goal is how much it borrows from The Warriors, a cult film involving street gangs in affiliated colors with the same sense of a cool, urban aura. DJ Cyber even reappears often and says the definitive quote “Can you dig it!?” as an overt reference.

While the rival gangs are nothing to sneeze at, the conflict involving the game’s true main antagonist becomes progressively more interesting as the story unfolds. One can probably assume that DJ Cyber is the primary nefarious subject in BRC due to his decapitation count stacking up higher than the French Revolution. However, he’s simply a decorated agent acting on the rules of a system that exists outside of the ethical parameters of civilized society. Separating Faux’s head from his body with the edge of his vinyl blade was simply an act of prompt justice, but what crime is he being convicted of? In a twist, Faux is guilty of the three disses: disloyalty, disrespect, and dishonesty. Faux and DJ Cyber used to run with this cat named Felix (not the cartoon one) who took it upon himself to achieve “all-city” ascendancy on his own because he possessed “writing” skills that surpassed anyone else in New Amsterdam. In an act of jealousy, Faux kills Felix by knocking him off of a ladder into the rapid blades of a ceiling fan. Faux was taken into police custody not for the usual “writer” fare, but for the heinous act of murdering his friend and partner in crime. When DJ Cyber thought the rat bastard was cooked when he cut his head clean off, we learn that the police are preserving Faux’s head and using some kind of communicative synapse system so Faux can sing like a canary and give them the information they need to shut down the “writer’s” subculture indefinitely. That petty motherfucker. Fortunately, it’s revealed when Red’s helmet gets cracked that the face behind the mask is none other than Felix, whose head was evidently found in the nick of time and replugged onto a host body, Faux’s before its mental faculties collapsed. This reveal is fortuitous, for Felix is the only person who can oppose the monstrous mech that Faux’s head takes to the cliffs of Mataan to destroy his old allies. While the plot still needs patience to fully accept it as reality, the subversion regarding the main villain is executed quite well. The passionate conversation between Felix and Faux before one has to end the other isn’t even as cheesy as the climactic scope would suggest.

Whether or not it's an HD retread of an IP from long ago, the modern gaming landscape needs more titles like Bomb Rush Cyberfunk. Its indomitable, maverick spirit is infectious and speaks to my inner beatnik, hippy, and all other rabble-rousers that strike against society's stifling conventions. Still, I can’t help but feel like Bomb Rush Cyberfunk is hollow overall. Its central gameplay of riding around skateboarding and such never tires, and I even found myself absentmindedly doing it without a clear objective because I was enjoying it so much. However, all of the concrete elements that progress the story are sadly repetitive and simplistic. I wonder how much of BRC’s boneless foundation is due to the meager indie developer budget, which is why I’m curious to see if Jet Set’s core is a solid one in comparison. It’s a chocolate easter bunny without an inside, but it consists of the most delicious chocolate I’ve ever eaten. Maybe I’m just a fucking square (sue me, I’m pushing 30).

Shadow Complex Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 9/4/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Shadow Complex

Developer: ChAIR, Epic Games

Publisher: Microsoft

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: Xbox 360

Release Date: August 19, 2009

Shadow Complex is a game that has intrigued me for quite some time now. On the surface, it resembles the cookie-cutter shooter game that emphasizes gritty realism in its aesthetic tone. These types of games flooded the gaming market during the seventh console generation when Shadow Complex was released, and their oversaturation disgusted me to the point where the mere mention of them causes palpable nausea. Shadow Complex seems like the type of game I wouldn’t even piss on if it was set ablaze but upon closer inspection, the drab visuals and tired thematic constructs are crafted in the vein of a Metroidvania game. Conversely, the non-linear subgenre of the 2D platformer orientation is one of my favorite types of games where I will automatically heed the direction of playing it if the description fits. The ubiquitous, era-defining trends of the seventh generation molded into a methodical Metroidvania game is certainly unorthodox, especially since Shadow Complex was developed long before the influx of the subgenre among the indie circle. The Xbox 360’s annual curation of independently developed titles facilitated this bold fusion of styles and formats, and I was curious to see if Shadow Complex provided a fresh perspective for both of its inspirations or if it was an abomination created by incompatible interspecies procreation.

Truthfully, I was never going to emphatically rave over Shadow Complex even if it hypothetically was the game that managed to perfect the Metroidvania genre’s design philosophy. This bias stems from the fact that Shadow Complex’s presentation and story are rife with modern FPS cliches that already make me gag and groan in their typical sources. The game begins with its foot on the gas in a scene where an armored soldier blasts a chopper out of the sky with an RPG. Already, with the scope of the frantic scene and the particular character interactions and dialogue, I can already tell that Shadow Complex’s story is one involving contentious political affairs that demand the audience approach it with the utmost seriousness. I wouldn’t even classify the game’s opening as an effective adrenaline hook, for the focus shifts entirely to another character for the remaining duration of the game. Shadow Complex’s protagonist is not the beefy military man who annihilated the helicopter, but a marginally less strapping man named Jason. The chaotic scene on the nameless city streets diverts entirely to the antithesis in setting and atmosphere: a tranquil wooded lakefront situated in what I can assume to be either along one of the Great Lakes or the Pacific Northwest where Jason and his girlfriend, Claire, are partaking in a hiking date through the picturesque landscape with the chance for romance in the air. The serenity is forever interrupted when Claire is abducted by a group of heavily armed men whose uniforms conceal their entire bodies.

Whether it be a case of mistaken identity or a convenient hostage for a terrorist faction, Jason’s leisurely afternoon has now escalated to enacting a valiant mission to save his girlfriend. Apparently, he possesses the skills needed to succeed in this daunting endeavor, for his government executive dad has trained him in the art of all types of combat plus stealth executions. Infixing this tidbit of character context with this brief flashback cutscene is laughably shoehorned, assuming the player needs reassurance that this average man is capable of thwarting the schemes of this hostile and dangerous organization. Isn’t one of the core tenets of the Metroidvania genre growing and adapting through progress? The circumstances would’ve been much more interesting if he was just some putz who was the victim of circumstance and became a swift killing machine through having to overcome a dire situation. He sure does seem like the epitome of an ordinary joe-schmoe regardless of his special set of skills, for his personality is more wooden than the trees that surround him. I bet he eats a bowl of watery oatmeal for breakfast every day and his favorite band is U2. What exactly does his girlfriend see in him?

The men in red and white jumpsuits have taken Claire somewhere into the depths of their vast headquarters, likely the eponymous “shadow complex” that the title alludes to. This facility serves as the base for the game’s map where all of the Metroidvania design elements are orchestrated. Overall, the institution is an ideal setting for a Metroidvania game. Any government building erected around the silent caverns away from the prying eyes of civilization is bound to have a treasure trove of secrets. Narrow passageways that Samus would’ve needed the cramped physical dexterity of the ball form to traverse through on Zebes have been cleverly translated to the series of air ducts convenient enough to circumnavigate around the tightly secured doorways that restrict access between the hallways. While the setting is not as alien in both the figurative and literal sense of the word as an extraterrestrial world, trespassing on the premise of a heavily guarded establishment whose high-clearance occupants will shoot you dead on sight if they catch you in their peripheral instills the player with an equivalent amount of tension. For the most part, Shadow Complex’s map is designed with a cogent understanding of the Metroidvania design philosophy and the choking tone that marks a Metroid game. However, how it handles the non-linear aspect of a Metroidvania game’s design is downright insulting. Whenever Jason is tasked with an objective, the game not only directly points where the task is located on the map–it blatantly spells out the exact trajectory to it with a blue line that zigzags accordingly. Afraid that we’d suffocate under the duress of reconnaissance, ChAIR Entertainment? Sure, the player isn’t forced to immediately comply with this painted path to progress, but it should be imperative for the player to organically find this road through curiosity. When I’m following direct orders, the sense of gratification via exploration is greatly diminished.

Shadow Complex’s 2.5D graphical rendering isn’t simply to keep the game in check with the high-definition gloss of triple-A visuals. Its gameplay equally treads the line between the flat and uncomplicated realm of 2D and the nuanced infinitum of 3D. How does it manage to pull off what seems incongruous by nature? Well, let’s just say that the backgrounds of Shadow Complex are incredibly busy, and I’m not referring to a purely visual context like in the fellow Metroidvania game Castlevania: Harmony of Dissonance. Oftentimes, there is an invisible wall of spatial range between Jason and the armed guards roaming the complex, positioning themselves on balconies and rafters to comfortably shoot at our protagonist. While it seems unfair that the enemies exist outside the bounds of Jason’s X-axis restrictions, his array of firearms is what penetrates this barrier as his means of self-defense. Jason begins his descent into the facility with nothing but a pistol, then he keeps replacing the firearm on his person with something gradually more lethal: a carbine rifle, an automatic machine gun, and finishes his adventure with an experimental shotgun that pierces through the shields of the SWAT variation of guards. In Metroid fashion, the primary weapon is an inextinguishable source of offense, even though the firearm realistically needs to be reloaded after the magazine exhausts like in any modern FPS game. When Jason is either ambushed by a squadron of guards or trips an alarm triggered by a security camera’s zoning lights, the situation will always expose the fallacies of Shadow Complex’s combat. Forget attempting to aim at any point during the game, for Jason will consistently line his sights at a 90-degree angle without entertaining any other integers in between. This faulty predicament would be reminiscent of the first Metroid’s lack of offensive range in the absolute earliest instances of the genre, but Shadow Complex corrects this inexcusable issue by aiming every shot for the player. Simply firing the weapon when an enemy is in the vicinity will course correct the bullet to hit the foe in question, and every other shot fired will automatically swerve over towards the next guard. Perhaps this automated aiming feature was implemented to overcome the incongruous dimensional perspective at play. Still, I’d rather aim manually because it raises the game’s skill ceiling. Due to readying and aiming being stricken from the firing equation, Shadow Complex is consistently on the easier side of the Metroidvania spectrum. Supplying cover to duck behind in most if not all of the spacious vestibules where a pack of guards are likely all bunched together also somewhat reduces the difficulty curve, but that element is a staple of the modern FPS title, and it translates over quite beautifully.

While crouching behind a sizable slab of concrete or another form of solid barrier found around the facility and dispatching the guards at opportune moments is a smooth recipe for success in Shadow Complex, killing them all one by one with the primary firearm can get a little tedious. This statement is especially applicable to Shadow Complex’s bosses: an assemblage of military-grade mechanical marvels that would make Solid Snake feel like a kid in a candy store. Fortunately, Shadow Complex allows Jason to diversify his arsenal beyond the restriction of replacing his primary one every so often. The pattern I noticed with the secondary explosive weapons was that the accuracy of each one improved as they were stacked in Jason’s pockets. The grenade launcher will blow multiple guards off their feet with a single shell, but the unexploded ordnance is bound to roll around past the desired target(s) before it ultimately erupts. Soon, pasting an enemy with the purple gel will provide an adhesive entry point to plop a grenade down an enemy’s gullet, namely one of the mech bosses. Eventually, missiles will act as a stronger alternative to the primary firearm complete with the same course-corrected aiming mechanic, with the caveat being that the ammunition is not infinite. None of these explosive weapons will ever reach the point of illimitable power, but crawling through the facility's nooks and crannies and finding upgrades that increase their maximum capacity will at least ensure that they don’t exhaust too quickly. Naturally, uncovering these well-kept secrets isn’t just a matter of meticulous searching, as all of the weapons at Jason’s disposal also function as the means to erode the barriers keeping these goodies from the player. In addition to every weapon obtained, certain blockages can only be obliterated by a function that allows Jason to bolt at them with lightning-fast velocity once he gains enough momentum. It’s stripped straight from Metroid so overtly that it’s practically an homage. Uncovering which specific tool is needed will be shown via the glow of Jason’s flashlight, and its everlasting energy negates the need to conserve its usage. Upgrade and armor plate progression is the greatest facet of Shadow Complex, as entertaining the little bits of additional traversal to obtain the upgrades displays a genuine understanding of a Metroidvania game’s progression. I’d argue it would be doubly effective if Jason started this escapade as a wimpy little shrimp, but one can still discern that his aptitude as an agent grows nonetheless.

All of Jason’s enhancements are going to be vital assets in his intrepid mission to save his significant other. Or, at least this is his goal for the beginning stretch of the game. Soon after Claire disappears from the cascading caverns, Jason finds her in a bunker relatively unscathed. Instead of getting the fuck out of dodge as Jason sensibly suggests, Claire is titillated by the conspiracy that surrounds the facility and wants to dig deeper into their clandestine activities. And to think that most couples settle for anal sex to spice up their fleeting air of romance. As spontaneous as Claire’s decision seems, it is revealed that she holds an invested interest in whatever these guards are protecting. She’s actually an NSA agent who is investigating the insidious Restoration, a terrorist organization whose agenda involves creating another civil war by eradicating a wide margin of the USA’s populace. Knowing that they’d recognize her, she bated Jason into enacting this feat of international espionage. Don’t call this girl anymore, Jason. The Restoration executes the Vice President as an introductory act to signify their damaging presence (although why they chose to kill the second in command instead of the chief is beyond me), and their next target is San Francisco. Shadow Complex’s climax is Jason taking down the airship that is armed to the teeth with weapons of nuclear annihilation. While this is a fitting finale for a game with this sort of grandiose, political thriller kind of story, interactively engaging in it through the gameplay is unfittingly brief and rather trivial. I can’t say whether or not the blowback of guards alongside revisiting boss mechs barely bruised me because I was well-prepared with the upgrades, or because the process of clipping this airship’s wings ultimately amounted to waiting for a rocket to emerge from a silo and aiming it at the target three times. The urgent scope of the scene and the breezy difficulty uncharacteristic of a final fight do not have that effective synergy between narrative and gameplay.

I think compromises had to be discussed during the conceptual period of Shadow Complex’s development. ChAIR obviously always had the Metroidvania genre in mind as the game’s fundamental backbone. Otherwise, why would they bother with this niche variant of video games in the first place? They evidently show a fondness for Metroid’s makeup, and it's when these elements shine that Shadow Complex is more than adequate. However, someone was apparently worried that a passion project revolving around this defunct and unpopular genre would be commercial suicide. Therefore, fusing the Metroidvania genre with all of the marketable cornerstones of gaming circa 2009 seemed like a logical idea to keep Shadow Complex afloat. However, the stale characters and bloated plot found in most popular FPS games at the time only undermine Shadow Complex’s impact. At least this odd hybrid of gameplay and thematic aspects makes Shadow Complex still a unique entry even among the wide selection of games in the Metroidvania renaissance, for better or for worse.

Wonder Boy III: The Dragon's Trap Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/31/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Wonder Boy III: The Dragon's Trap

Developer: Weststone Bit

Publisher: Sega

Genre(s): Metroidvania

Platforms: Master System

Release Date: September 1, 1989

Nintendo had such a tight grip on the gaming zeitgeist in the latter half of the 1980s that many often forget about the Sega Master System. Yes, the blue instigators of capitalist competition against the red masters at Nintendo did not begin in the fourth generation when Sega unleashed Sonic the Hedgehog to represent their brand and spew some downright dirty smack talk to belittle the SNES. Sega BS (before Sonic) was a comparatively humble period when the company channeled its assets to the still-prevalent arcade scene. Still, Nintendo was making some serious bank by bringing the arcade experience into everyone’s homes as Atari once attempted to do, and Sega soon recognized that Nintendo’s success with this accessible gaming convenience could run their arcade racket out of business. Their third-generation system didn’t come out swinging like a wrecking ball to dent the brick mold of Nintendo’s solid fortress, but it was still an admirable piece of machinery. Even though they didn’t have the blue blur backing the console (well, not in its prime at least), the Master System still harbored a selection of exclusives that gamers could seek out if they managed to exhaust the NES’s colossal library. Admittedly, I don’t think IPs like Alex Kidd and the earliest incarnations of Shinobi and Phantasy Star were up to snuff to compete with what Nintendo was offering. However, the charming fantasy platformer series Wonder Boy seemed to instill confidence in the Master System’s capabilities to compete with Nintendo, for there were a whopping total of four titles from the franchise released for the console. Wonder Boy III: The Dragon’s Trap is the final entry in this series on the Master System, and it's allegedly the one title for the console that might’ve made a few Nintendo fans convert.

My interest in The Dragon’s Trap actually did not stem from its professed outstanding quality, even if playing a pre-Genesis Sega game rumored to be better than a substantial chunk of Nintendo classics released the same year is certainly a source of genuine intrigue. No, the way that The Dragon’s Trap lured me into experiencing it was a specific genre tag. If my Ufouria: The Saga review is any indication, Metroidvania games released before the parents of Super Metroid and Symphony of the Night were conceived fascinate me to no end. It’s always interesting to see how developers tackled open-world design and the peculiar progression tenets of the genre in such a primitive age of gaming before the rule book was written. Hearing that The Dragon’s Trap was an all-around exceptional game in addition to its precociousness was simply the cherry on top.

How The Dragon’s Trap approaches its mannered, exploration-intensive design is expectedly rudimentary, but it still showcases a relative understanding of how to execute a Metroidvania game's progression. After plunging into the introductory dungeon and defeating the first boss, the player is transported to a quaint little burg that acts as the game’s main hub. It exudes the same sense of hominess as the respite areas found across Zelda II’s map, and the similarities in the old-world architecture make it seem like Sega borrowed the same “set.” Here, the player has access to the shop of a smoking, eye-patched pig vendor, which includes a selection of armor and weapons. A “cure station” is also available further down the road to fully replenish the player’s health, curated by a buxom nurse with fluffy blonde hair. Extending from this initial point are the various tree branch pathways where the atmosphere is a bit less tranquil. Finding the route underground through what I can compare to a sewer system is not the clearest trajectory from the surface of the town. Still, it becomes the only sensible way out of town when all of the more conspicuous avenues are blocked by several impediments. This obscuring of many passageways for the player to find the one of least resistance is textbook Metroidvania design. However, the perimeter of the hub is the extent of this type of progression. Once the player finds the correct route, the waypoint to the next boss is a fairly straightaway trajectory with the occasional key needed to unlock a door. Occasionally, a previous area will need to be revisited such as traversing back through the octopus-infested ocean waters to uncover a sunken ship, but the backtracking beyond the hub happens in instances few and far between. I never expected a proto-Metroidvania title to showcase a world design as thick and rich as chocolate molasses, so I’m satisfied with the game’s partial elements that will still faintly recall the foundation of a modern Metroidvania title.

The intended path of progression in The Dragon’s Trap greatly depends on which form the protagonist is currently taking. A primary gimmick of Wonder Boy, his “schtick” if you will, is the extraordinary ability to alter his human anatomy to that of a plethora of different animals and mythical creatures. This metamorphosis is engaged whenever the titular Wonder Boy conquers a boss in the blank, dim arena and the blue flame that represents its soul engulfs his being. I was initially under the impression that Wonder Boy was a chameleonic Beast Boy who could shift his shape on a whim, and changing his form to utilize the specific attribute of a certain creature is what’s needed to surpass obstacles. In reality, the permanence of Wonder Boy’s status is more akin to a curse if anything. The player is stuck with whichever creature is currently possessing Wonder Boy’s physicality. Each section of The Dragon’s Trap is practically segmented into chapters, with one form corresponding with an area as its completion shifts the shape of Wonder Boy into something else entirely. Because each form is unique to the other with its special set of quirks and skills, the quality of the gameplay fluctuates like the stories of an anthology film. The Lizard-Man looks intimidating but is handicapped by his lack of a shield. The player will have to manually block all projectiles with the Lizard-Man’s innate fireballs to protect themselves. Mouse-Man regains Wonder Boy’s trusty sword and shield, but sacrifices size as transforming into the pipsqueak animal would dictate. At least the smaller mass of a mouse allows Wonder Boy to effortlessly run along the sides of surfaces. Piranha-Man is naturally a water-bound creature who can swim, and Lion-Man is a strapping, upstanding beast with the greatest attack range. Hawk-Man is the animal equivalent of the Screwattack or transforming into a bat like Alucard, as his flying ability allows the player to mitigate all bounded ground and spaces. Eventually, the player will reach a room with a platform in the middle that shuffles through each transformation but for the most part, the player will be confined to one creature until the milestone of defeating a boss. Mouse-Man especially irritates me, for the pinpoint close range needed to attack an enemy often results in him getting hit on impact, and the controls regarding his wall climbing ability are incredibly unresponsive. Every prospective turn from vertical to horizontal movement feels like the rodent has gotten himself stuck in a glue trap.

While the transformation forms all fall on polar sides of the likability spectrum, one surprise that is probably indicative of the acclaim that The Dragon’s Trap receives is that it’s consistently smoother on the difficulty scale. The 8-bit era in which the game was released was notorious for causing gamers so much pain and agony that the NES and Master System were comparable to BDSM dominatrixes, and I guess we were the sick masochists who took every lashing with delight. If you’re a hardcore 8-bit enthusiast who thrives on frustration, The Dragon’s Trap is not the title for you. However, I can bet that most modern gamers who are usually deterred by a pixelated title’s austerity will find The Dragon’s Trap to be a refreshing exception. Damage from enemies seems to only result in knocking out a sliver of the player’s total health in most instances, and the small units can be restored thanks to the hearts that frequently emerge from fallen enemies. If the player unfortunately exhausts all of their hearts, having a potion in their inventory will reinvigorate them, although the amount of insurance received seems to be random. Even if the player doesn’t have this handy elixir to avert death, dying will simply transport the player back to the hub with all of their gold intact. The items that unfortunately won’t survive the resurrection process are the secondary weapons such as the boomerangs and tornados, but they can be recovered as quickly as one’s health in the remains of smote enemies. A luck of the draw might also reward the player with a free potion in the "game over" screen. I’d gripe at the arduous trek one has to undergo upon dying, but I honestly didn’t mind the backtracking because I could farm for gold along the way. The bosses are durable and the amount of strikes they take to vanquish could grate on the player’s patience, but their attack patterns are so How ironic is it that Sega would adopt such an uncompromising ethos for game difficulty in the next generation when The Dragon’s Trap is evidence that they were ahead of the curve.

However, while The Dragon’s Trap is accommodating, it isn’t entirely immune to some old-school obtuseness. The one-eyed pig is evidently quite the entrepreneur, considering how many shops he owns located beyond the hub. In stores elsewhere on the map, the player can be prevented from purchasing whatever it is that a question mark is obscuring. I figured I needed to progress further in the game and uncover a specific item that would unveil these high-market items, so I paid them no mind. That is until I was faced with a stream of lava as long as the Amazon, and attempting to swim in it fried Piranha-Man into fish sticks immediately. What was the solution to this unyielding progression hindrance? Wearing the dragon mail armor that is bought at the pig’s store located in the volcanic area right before the swathe of boiling liquid. The issue at hand was that I was not “charming enough” for the pig to put his flame-resistant armor up for sale. A mechanic situated alongside offense and defense is “charm points,” and the amount of charm points you have coincides with the pig’s willingness to offer up his wares. What the fuck, isn’t my money good enough? A thousand pardons that I’m not Hugh Grant circa 1994. Across all combinations of my weapons and armor at hand, they still didn’t accumulate a satisfactory amount of charm to convince the pig to put it on the stock. I would’ve had a sufficient level of charm if I had purchased armor in the jungle as Mouse-Man. Little did I realize that the goblin armor that had the highest defense stat made me as charming as a drunken, piss-stained hobo, so I couldn’t purchase that armor at the time either. I also couldn’t reach the jungle again upon my realization because the direction towards that area could only be reached by the mouse. I hit an impenetrable progression wall and was forced to start from scratch. The immutability of arcade difficulty that The Dragon’s Trap seemed to divert from still ultimately led to the same result. Because The Dragon’s Trap had convinced me it was a saintly presence in an otherwise grueling environment, what I endured here was a searing stab in the heart.

I can see why The Dragon’s Trap persists as an essential game from the 8-bit era. It’s a maverick title that separates itself from the pack of the vicious, sadistic video games of the time with more accommodations than a five-star hotel suite. Its smoothness may have deterred some gamers at the time, but it has aged wonderfully as gaming has become more accessible over time. However, the jaggedness that is admittedly characteristic of games of this era did brandish its sharp teeth eventually, so it's still cut from the same cloth at its core. Maybe a more astute gamer would have caught my blunder before it happened, but I’ll still argue that the game wasn’t directing me out of the dead end I had cornered myself into. All the same, The Dragon’s Trap was a pleasant and impressive experience when I corrected my mistake, breezing through it until I fought the final dragon and returned Wonder Boy to his original “Hu-Man” form. This game could have served as Sega’s entire marketing plan for the Master System–presenting an exclusive to wind down with after Nintendo had beaten them mercilessly on the NES.

Mario Kart 64 Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/28/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Mario Kart 64

Developer: Nintendo

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Kart Racer

Platforms: N64

Release Date: December 14, 1996

I wanted to dive into this review confidently stating that Mario Kart 64 blew its series debut on the SNES out of the realm of relevance inherently on the advantage of 3D graphics. After all, that narrative is essentially how the gaming history books tell it. Mario Kart 64 launched the unvanquishable kart racing series into the stratosphere and served as the shining beacon that radiated the idea into the minds of other developers that this casual genre of racing games was a lucrative goldmine. Sure, Super Mario Kart was the precursor that provided the template, but it is truly amazing how the evolved polygonal realm breathed so much life and practicality into this once-budding phenomenon. Upon taking history’s word entirely and foolishly misjudging my memory of Mario Kart 64, I trusted that the first 3D Mario Kart game was still on par with all of its successors that directly aped all of its engaging elements. I was ready to propose that the third dimension was all the kart racer dish needed in its recipe for surefire success, but I’ve unfortunately come to find that Mario Kart 64 is almost equally as primitive as its pixelated predecessor.

So besides the enhancement of visual realism, how exactly does the third dimension aid Mario Kart’s design and mechanics? Honestly, asking this question alone really fails to realize the full scope of what the third dimension offers the gaming medium besides an aesthetic boost that resembles something akin to realistic shapes and solid proportions. Imagine that you are participating in a race with your real-life, third-dimensional “graphics,” for lack of a better term. Provided you have a 20/20 vision, you should be able to see everything in front of you and have a general understanding of the obstacles and immediate terrain before hitting the finish line. Super Mario Kart’s premature attempt to craft something that inherently requires depth perception and a broad understanding of one’s environment faltered in every sense. Everything from the graphics to the gameplay was compressed to Bejesus and back as a modest compromise to the 16-bit system’s limitations. The tracks were practically being rendered as the player zoomed forward, which doesn’t exactly inspire confidence when you need to dodge obstacles to win a race. Essentially, being able to discern what lies ahead is the inherent factor of total superiority that the 3D Mario Kart 64 has over the SNES prototype. I’m still in disbelief at how quickly Nintendo was jumping the gun trying to pull Mario Kart into existence when gaming technology clearly wasn’t ready for it.

The relationship between a racer and their surroundings is no better exemplified than with Mario Kart 64’s selection of racetracks. The restriction of the SNES also extended to the range of course themes, as many environments were recycled across the four grand prix cups. In Mario Kart 64, all sixteen tracks are entirely unique to one another. While some tracks share similarities in theme like the winter wonderland of “Frappe Snowland” and the arctic, penguin-infested “Sherbet Land,” their designs and obstacles couldn’t be any more dissimilar. Firstly, we should discuss how some of these tracks showcase the realism that the 3D graphics now facilitate. In terms of obstacles, they can now expand beyond a few mud pits and snow to slow the player’s acceleration. “Moo Moo Farms” is a dirt road where the bovine animals roam around the track (along with Monty Moles that pop out from the dirt) and if you can’t anticipate the train in “Kalimari Desert” as you approach the tracks, I advise you to invest in some glasses for your own personal safety outside of the game. “Toad Turnpike” is the greatest example of the point I’m trying to make, with the characters zooming down a highway along with proportionally-sized cars and trucks with a fluid rate of motion like a real busy turnpike. Secondly, the heightened spatial parameters of 3D allow for the player to manipulate the trajectory to their advantage. For example, a ramp in “Koopa Troopa Beach” can lead to a hidden crevice in the wall that will catapult the player to the opposite side of the rock. Many players have discovered shortcuts outside the intended bounds of the tracks while exploiting the newfound bounciness of the karts. Boosting over the solidified mud piles that comprise Wario Stadium will launch the player over the bend, and taking a leap of faith at a specific point in this game’s interaction of “Rainbow Road” will shave off at least a minute of their completion time. It’s almost a shame that someone would fast forward through “Rainbow Road” here, for the colorful finale is beautifully epic, even if the track is a linear stretch with solid barriers. It’s Mario Kart 64’s Stairway to Heaven, and racing through this track will take the same duration of time as it does to listen to that song, so I don’t blame any players for skidding off the ledge. Thirdly, tracks use the 3D space to diversify the track layouts to simply make the total design far more interesting. “Bowser’s Castle” here features a different hazard and track piece such as bridges and stone staircases in every single room, which is far more engaging to race on than a fractured island situated in a pool of lava. My favorite track, “D.K.’s Jungle Parkway,” is a gorgeous tropical paradise with a plethora of awe-striking setpieces. The track designs alone should be enough evidence as to why the fifth generation should’ve been Mario Kart’s debut era. However, the one detractor is the clusterfuck “Yoshi Valley,” incorporating all of these elements and bloating them with its unchecked ambitions. This is the only track where the game can’t tell the placements of the racers amongst the serpentine turns, which should’ve been an indication that it was a bad idea.

The racers in question are still eight of Mushroom Kingdom’s finest. However, they are not the same eight characters that were available in the previous game, for the franchise has grown exponentially in the four years and some dynamics were shifted. For one, Rare released their seminal Donkey Kong Country in the time between the two Mario Kart games, so their version of the loveable ape that wears a tie replaces DK Jr. forevermore. Super Mario Land 2 also established another Mario rival that wasn’t interested in kidnapping princesses in Wario, and his uncanny vileness apparently resonated with gamers enough that Nintendo felt it apropos to put him on the Mario Kart frontlines. The green Koopa Troopa has been axed, leaving Toad as the only non-descript Mario character among the eight. The growing number of staunchly affiliated Mario icons in the roster signifies that the franchise had become even grander by the turn of the 3D era, and seeing these once-pixelated characters fully fleshed out in 3D was sure to be exciting for everyone who was used to seeing them in sprites. Sure, the character models are pre-rendered as opposed to being legitimate polygons. Still, it's incredible how these iconic characters were brought to life here nevertheless.

Actually, Toad’s avatar-like placement in the roster was exactly why I chose him as my primary Mario Kart character in replaying all of the Grand Prix cups. Yoshi could arguably fit this description, but I always assume that the representative of the island dinosaurs is the same Yoshi, one who is a close companion to Mario. I picked Toad for his Joe Schmoe pluckiness, but I unknowingly discovered that he was the perfect character to expose Mario Kart 64’s duplicity. I mentioned that one of the selling points of Super Mario Kart and the series, on the whole, was that the player could choose any character they wanted solely based on their arbitrary attachment to that character from the mainline Mario franchise and nothing more. We can assume that there are no statistical variations between every individual character based on the fact that they are nowhere to be found on the character select screen, but playing as Toad has made me wise to their deception. Given that Toad is yay high approximate to a traffic cone or a comically-sized dildo used for a circus act, one can naturally determine that he’s liable to get bullied by the larger characters while racing on the track. Preposterous, you say–well explain to me then why Toad spins out of control whenever he runs into the back of either Bowser, Donkey Kong, or the disgustingly obese Wario. Shouldn’t the game overtly give the player a disclaimer that he’s at a disadvantage? Stat distinctions would be sensible in a game with characters of differing sizes and shapes, but it’s especially egregious that the game seems to obscure them from the player.

Running into bigger bullies on the track is a common aspect of concern in Mario Kart 64, for it pertains to the game’s most fundamental flaw. To keep the player from joyriding to the finish line, the game implements a peculiar mechanic where every other racer will be tailing behind the player when they’re in first no matter the circumstances. The Mario Kart fandom has dubbed this occurrence as “rubberbanding” and I can’t think of a more apt metaphorical term for how competition in this game plays out. From my personal experience with this, I was utterly flabbergasted when I barely came in second to Bower on “Toad’s Turnpike.” I pelted the Koopa King with green shells aplenty and distracted him with my first-placed position so he’d swerve into a truck and lose his placement for good. However, despite my perfect race without any mistakes, Bowser still managed to eke out a victory right from behind me at the end. The CPUs on 100cc don’t even utilize the boost feature, so what the fuck happened?! This is purely speculation, but were the developers worried that the game would be too easy in a 3D environment that they course-corrected by keeping all characters on a string? Shouldn’t the character who showcases the highest racing aptitude be the clear victor? Many argue that Mario Kart isn’t a skill-based racing game, but this is discouragingly unfair to the player.

So what is the clear solution to ensure a swift victory despite the game’s efforts to leave the outcome up to the stars? It’s probably conditional to the player mastering the drift mechanic, but I swear, executing this mechanic properly barely amounts to any speed boost. It seems like the character drives faster while in the drift mode, even though the curved angle can lead the player off the track and then some. Certainly the items function as supplementary tools to a smoother victory, or at least this is what they’re ideally used for. In practice, the items are fickle at best. Most of the new items in Mario Kart 64 are used for defense. Oftentimes, the player will be given the chance to hold not one, but either three green or red shells at a time that rotate around them like a shield. However, I found that CPUs seldom fire any offensive items at the player. Can the player use the multiple red shells to bury CPUs at least a marginal distance behind them? In theory, yes, but the red shells have a tendency to never reach their targets and reroute off to the side instead. I should be dedicating an entire paragraph to the new blue shell item, for it is the harbinger of doom for any Mario Kart player who finds themselves positioned in first place. When I was in fourth and this juggernaut item came into my possession, what exactly did this grand executioner do? It slid a little bit and plinked on a warp pipe a few yards ahead. I couldn’t help but laugh. I advise sandbagging a mushroom for a speed boost right before the finish line, especially the new golden mushrooms that can be used multiple times.

Do you want to know what the real solution is to pull off a well-earned victory in Mario Kart 64? Bring three friends who can’t operate under the CPU’s bullshit system. In fact, I now realize that the multiplayer aspect of Mario Kart 64 is really what skyrocketed the series’ popularity. If Super Mario 64 demonstrated the 3D feature of the N64 in the console’s early days, then Mario Kart 64 was the first instance of what the additional two controller ports meant for any game’s fun factor. No wonder why everyone has fond memories of this game. However, I can only assess Mario Kart 64 on its merits inside the framework of a stern, single-player experience, and I’ve deduced that the game is a bit broken. The game features so many baffling rookie mistakes that it is hard to believe that this was working off the template of a previous title. Under the argument that 3D legitimizes Mario Kart 64 as the first “true” game in the series, it puts all of the block-headed decisions into perspective. Still, at least Mario Kart 64 is still fun at its core, something I can’t say for Super Mario Kart. That aspect definitely counts as a considerably weighty merit for a Mario game, don’t you think?

Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/18/2024)

[Image from glitchwave.com]

Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze

Developer: Retro Studios, Monster Games

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): 2D Platformer

Platforms: Wii U

Release Date: February 14, 2014

I think that I despise the Wii U. I’ll defend what little honor it has from absolutely fervent naysayers who label Nintendo’s “sequel” to their motion-controlled sales juggernaut as an atrocity, but this is only because I’m one of the few people who actually owned one. Also, I transparently admit that my investment in the Wii U stemmed entirely from its Super Smash Bros. title, which is how Nintendo has consistently kept reeling me into purchasing their consoles since Melee kinda pollinated my adoration for the video game medium. Speaking positively on the Wii U’s behalf is like a parent taking the stand as a character witness for their defendant child in court. They’re clearly guilty of the crime they’ve been accused of, and the parent is fully aware of this. Still, I can’t bring myself to slander this machine despite knowing full well why it failed. If Nintendo bounced back and returned to the status of an esteemed contender in the console wars with their subsequent system, why is the Wii U’s failure still a relevant issue? Because the games released for this uninspired, unstimulating system suffer dearly. A game company’s statistical model is predicated on the hypothesis that the games sell the system and not vice versa; so when a system underperforms compared to the other competitors, it is assumed that the public is disinterested in the titles for the system. Despite the sound and solid business model, I can confidently state that it was the Wii U's pitiful marketability console that doomed it to a prematurely severed shelf life. In its short and tepid tenure, the Wii U was backed by some honest-to-God essential exclusives. One of these titles that did its damnedest to support Nintendo’s eighth-generation blunder was Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze: the fifth game in the Nintendo icon’s 2D platformer series and the second modern revival title developed by Retro Studios. This game was considered worthy enough to port over to the more successful Switch console where it sold much more favorably. Still, it’s unnerving that we haven’t seen Retro Studios round out their time with the DKC series with a third entry as Rare did on the SNES, and I can only place the blame on Nintendo abandoning the IP again for how poorly the Wii U performed sales-wise. Normally, I wouldn’t covet non-existent content from any series, but Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze is not the note I want the franchise to go out on.

The oxymoronic subtitle in this DKC entry refers to the primary source of conflict the game introduces in its first cutscene. At first, the mood over at Donkey Kong’s treehouse is an especially jubilant one, for all of the tie-clad ape’s friends and family members are celebrating the big guy’s birthday (did 2014 mark the anniversary of something Donkey Kong-related?). In the distance, a Viking ship sails forward to Kong's home island sounding the horns of conquest, and Donkey Kong is alarmed by their presence once a stray snowflake douses the lit candle atop his frosted birthday banana. The shadowed ship captain summons an ice phoenix whose graceful wingspan is evidently equal to the powerful wind velocity of a category-five hurricane. With their only obstacles out of their way, the invaders find it fitting to reshape DK Island into something akin to their frosty habitat, glazing the humid jungle in such a thick layer of ice that it now resembles something of an alpine tundra. The series has shifted the silly conflict of banana thievery into the serious subject of climate change, a dreadful phenomenon that renders the DK crew’s homeland totally inhabitable. The premise is so sympathetically grim that it makes us all angry at penguins, a species of bird that is typically difficult to harbor negative feelings toward.

When Donkey Kong “returned” as the previous game had suggested in its title, one completely new aspect was the implementation of motion controls. In Donkey Kong Country Returns, the developers felt obliged to work with the Wii’s unique utility by assigning Donkey Kong’s roll and ground slap maneuvers to the shaking of the Wiimote. This decision proved to be fairly agreeable, but I still wondered if the scheme was really necessary from a player-character kinetic standpoint. Really, the only commonality that the Wii U shared with its immediate predecessor was its name, so the motion control gimmick that defined the console’s legacy did not carry over to the next generation of Nintendo consoles. Donkey Kong’s special tricks are instead executed all in one button, with the discerning factor depending on whether or not he’s stationary at the moment. As for the odd blowing move DKC Returns introduced, the developers wisely came to the same conclusion that I did in that it made their strapping, hunky hero look like a frilly schoolgirl playing with dandelions on a sunny spring afternoon and did away with it entirely. The Wii U’s more traditional control scheme sees the series going back to basics in a sense, and the consignment of Donkey Kong’s controls to the same button function as his jump maneuver honestly feels more organic. You can’t fix what isn’t broken, after all. However, something that wasn’t broken in the previous titles that Tropical Freeze evidently decided was imperative to toy with was Donkey Kong’s ability to breathe underwater. Now, an air gauge will deplete if Donkey Kong is submerged for a lengthy period, and he’ll obviously die if he doesn’t reach a source of oxygen in time. I understand that the abundance of underwater settings in Tropical Freeze might warrant this mechanic to prevent these kinds of levels from being effortlessly facile. Still, nerfing one of Donkey Kong’s trademark talents like this is equivalent to severing the fingers of a musical prodigy to put them on an equal playing field with the rest of the kids in their piano class.

Donkey Kong has always obliged assistance from his friends in his quests to reclaim his precious and impressive banana hoard, so he’s certainly going to need a helping hand to overcome this dilemma of epic, life-threatening proportions. I lamented that Diddy Kong, an integral character from the series who clocked in more screen time than the titular Kong in the SNES trilogy, was relegated to a secondary supporting role instead of continuing the tag team dynamic he shared with Donkey Kong. Diddy is still gliding his burlier friend over gaps with his jetpack in Tropical Freeze, but I can’t stay cross at the developers because Diddy is now mixed with good company. In Tropical Freeze, the character barrel now shuffles between three supporting characters from the series: Diddy and the newly added Dixie Kong and Cranky Kong. Each of them piggybacks on Donkey Kong and provide a unique aid to Donkey Kong’s limited range of movement. Dixie Kong will flutter her blond ponytail upward like a helicopter, while Cranky Kong will channel another old codger from gaming’s yesteryears and use his cane to pogo off of flat surfaces or the heads of his enemies. The secondary character’s special properties also translate to an underwater setting, where Diddy and Dixie provide propulsive movement via their jetpack and hair respectively and Cranky Kong swiftly whacks the creatures of the deep with his walking apparatus like they owe him a Cracker Barrel coupon.

I understand that incorporating all of these characters into the gameplay is intended to evoke the sentimental rejoicing of a DKC reunion, even though Kiddy Kong was evidently cut from the mailing list as expected. While I appreciate the enhanced modes of gameplay all of these characters provide, a few issues still arise. Dixie renders Diddy Kong worthless as her similar flight maneuver is smoother and covers a bit more aerial space. Hopping to the buoyant heights of a trampoline with Cranky Kong is not a problem in the slightest; rather, his first-time inclusion on the field indicates a fundamental misunderstanding of the character. Lest we forget that Cranky Kong is Donkey Kong’s grandfather. If anyone has ever known their grandfather, one subject of conversation they cannot resist speaking on is how monumentally strong and resilient they once were in their younger days, especially compared to their grandkid’s generation that they perceive as a bunch of namby-pamby soy boys. Cranky Kong is guilty of bolstering the tremendous achievements of his yesteryears like any other decrepit geezer, and the dubious self-asserted accounts of these feats have served as the penultimate challenges in every game of the SNES DKC trilogy. We were never intended to see Cranky Kong in action, for the illusion of this old ape’s glorious feats of athleticism is squandered by his meager supporting role of allowing his grandson to bounce like a basketball. In other related news, what continues to disappoint me in terms of classic character inclusion, or in this case omission, is that Rambi is still the sole animal buddy representative (besides the Squawks radar in the shop). As much as I am delighted to encounter the trusty rhinoceros on the field and ride him as he furiously stampedes through lines of enemies, one would think that a game that highlights a reunion initiative of the series’ characters would believe that including all of Donkey Kong’s non-simian friends would be prudent. What did the Kongs do to make all of the other species on DK Island so jilted? The spontaneous ice age concerns them too!

Donkey Kong can’t deal with this icy ordeal surrounding his home island with the immediate urgency it probably warrants. The flight of the ice phoenix was so majestic that it literally blew Donkey Kong and company away–to a place situated five islands west of DK Island. The journey back to the Kong’s residential address encompasses all five islands plus the eventual return to DK Island, a fitting number of “worlds” for a stacked 2D platformer game. As par for the course, all six major worlds in Tropical Freeze are progressed through on the Super Mario Bros. 3-esque grid map and they are all thematically distinct from one another. On the subject of level themes, Tropical Freeze exhibits what is arguably the most creative array of worlds that the series has ever displayed. The game begins with “Lost Mangroves”, a beach level traditional to the recurring themes across the series if the tropical fruit of the island’s namesake was any indication. After that, “Autumn Heights” showcases an island in a perpetual state of the season of arboreal decay and all of its beauty. “Bright Savannah” is an inspired tribute to the scorching wild plains of Africa, complete with model giraffe heads made from cloth that the humble people of this continent would craft for a tribal ceremony. The sheer breadth of the deep sea in “Sea Breeze Cover” is likely why the developers figured it was appropriate to give Donkey Kong a pair of vulnerable lungs, for traversing through this divine aquatic realm shouldn’t have the ease of swimming laps in a public pool. Also, I’d like to point out that this world should’ve revitalized the swordfish Enguarde back into the franchise, and I’m quite upset that the developers didn’t jump at this opportunity. The standout world in my opinion is the fruit-oriented “Juicy Jungle,” an island dedicated to liquidating the island’s tropical produce at an industrial rate of efficiency. The series of factories claim to be for the production of popsicles, but what popsicle factory is made of brick with vines crawling all over it? Your disguising of a winery in a game for general audiences isn’t that inconspicuous, Retro Studios. Lastly, Donkey Kong and friends arrive at home base and are forced to progress through the map via a chain of blast barrels due to the cumulative mass of snow on the ground. One would think the premise would serve as a ploy to rationally insert the common ice-themed platformer-level trope in a series that typically has warmer climates. Still, the final world isn’t an outright cavalcade of ice. Fluttering snowfall as an invasive element to a familiar land evokes a stirring melancholy unexpected from this series. It’s an odd, yet effective way of signifying the threat at hand.

One might notice that a few levels in each world’s map will still be in their locked, darkened state even if the player successfully completes the areas preceding them. This is because each world offers at least one branching path from the standard trajectory, an innovation that Tropical Freeze debuts. If the player notices that two levels intersect from the current one, this likely connotes that a warp gate is located in that level. These alternate exits tend to be placed distantly off the beaten path, so the player will have to put on their tweed detective hats and do some genuine scavenger work. The “extra” levels that the portal uncovering leads to are nothing out of the ordinary in terms of diverting from the theme of the world they reside in, except that they commonly exhibit the silhouetted art style that DKC Returns introduced. These discoverable warp gates incentivize the player to stray from the linear line of progress that most 2D platformers uphold, and that supplementary stride allows the player to engage with the levels to a more intricate degree. Tropical Freeze continues to foster replayability by reintegrating the DK coins back into the series. Instead of simply serving as another collectible found in the same roundabout fashion at the warp gates, these giant, copper tokens are earned through optional time trial runs through the level after completing them initially. Crash Bandicoot is giving back to the series that inspired it after taking so much of its identity for itself! Isn’t that swell?! The caramel-colored leaves still unlock concept art in the menu, and collecting the KONG letters per level will still open a series of temple catacombs that act as the apex of DKC difficulty. To be transparent, none of this extra content is all that revolutionary, and it’s not as if Tropical Freeze offers more of it than the previous titles. Still, I can appreciate the avenue to an auxiliary challenge.

Veteran DKC players such as myself will be especially thankful that Tropical Freeze caters to them specifically with these tangential tasks because the base game is a bit too easy to stimulate our interests. Yes, I’m completely serious: Tropical Freeze drops the spicy heat of DKC’s notoriously steep difficulty down to a cool breeziness not unlike how the Snowmad imperialists plummet DK Island to a temperature below freezing to fit their normal habitat. On paper, Tropical Freeze doesn’t alter the course of a DKC game one bit. However, upon playing it, seasoned DKC soldiers will notice that the platform placement is more manageable to jump between, enemies tend to approach Donkey Kong with a languid lethargy, and the game is far too accommodating with placing 1-UP balloons throughout the level, much less the overhaul of bananas in differing quantities that grant the player lives by the barrel full anyways. Over the course of playing Tropical Freeze, I amassed so many extra lives that I thought the A&E network was going to call me and exploit my hoarding for their television program and refer to it as a mental illness. I hit the fucking maximum capacity far too many times for comfort. I had to look up what the “game over” screens for this game looked like out of curiosity, and it’s almost a shame that I never saw it because the image of two emperor penguin enemies ensnaring Donkey Kong in a block of ice as a means of captivity is one of the better ones. Sure, I died occasionally, and the rate of dying accelerated near the end of the game because the final world is leagues harder than every single world that precedes it. However, death was still a trivial hiccup due to the stockpile of lives I had accumulated during the easier areas leading up to it. For the first time ever, I feel like the series is punching below its weight class.

Tropical Freeze also (unintentionally) marks an unbelievable series first in that its bosses are far more formidable than their levels. The aspect of the DKC series most maligned across the SNES trilogy was boosted to unprecedented heights with Retro Studios at the helm, for the bosses they conjured up were finally fit to be referred to by their imposing descriptor. Tropical Freeze’s end-level foes continue the admirable streak of multifaceted mechanics and shifting phases to keep the player from catching on to the scent of their attack patterns. Pompy, The Presumptuous is a slippery seal who adores the spotlight as he performs his big top circus act, while Scowl always tests Donkey Kong’s airborne aptitude by ascending further into the skies upon each phase. My favorite of the high-ranking Snowmad lieutenants is Bashmaster, whose tonguing of a frozen, fruity treat upon encountering him begs the question if he’s taking advantage of the domain he’s settled in or the juice workers are solidifying their product into popsicles under his commands. Either or, he’s an upright-standing polar bear who wields a massive mallet. He looks like a goddamn World of Warcraft beast. The poisonous Fugu and the duplicating Ba-Boom, unfortunately, deflect the consistent arctic animal theme of the bosses, even though they wear the snowflake insignia that spells out their allegiance to DK’s new nemeses. Still, they are far superior to similar bosses from series past such as the Scurvy Crew from DKC Returns and the giant urchin Barbos from DKC 3. The regal king of the Snowmads, Lord Fredrik, resides in the inner sanctum of DK Island’s volcano, and the leader of the Snowmad clan is as daunting as his venerated title and shadowy visage would suggest. This prideful walrus stalls Donkey Kong to make him sweat as the unstable, molten platform that is the boss arena sinks into the pool of lava underneath, and his mammoth of a Viking horn features a swiss-army knife of unique utilities. Even if the player accurately times their jumps on his backside as he bullrushes towards them in a huff, this final boss is still a tense test of endurance.

How dare you dumb down my beloved Donkey Kong Country to appeal to a wider gaming demographic, Retro Studios. I half expected your previous effort to submit to the standards of the modern gaming climate, but I was ecstatic when you stuck to the traditional values of the series. I suppose they regressed DKC’s difficulty as a desperation tactic to make the sinking Wii U ship more approachable. This decision didn’t garner the intended results, now did it? I dedicate a raspberry noise to you, Retro Studios, for your foolish antics. On second thought, I shouldn’t express my bitter schadenfreude too explicitly, for I do wish for the developer to make another DKC game to surpass this one. However, it's unlikely that will ever happen, either due to the studio not bothering to put the effort into one or because the series has already implanted itself into the realm of accessibility to the point of no return. Even though I commend the mature premise and world themes, Tropical Freeze hardly adds anything fresh and exciting and ultimately dilutes the properties of the previous title. For the chosen few who purchased a Wii U and those who heard of Tropical Freeze from word of mouth and decided to try it on the Switch, Tropical Freeze is lauded as the peak of the series. In my opinion, all Tropical Freeze does is elevate DKC Returns as the perfect revival title. Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze is undoubtedly my least favorite game in the franchise, but it's still better than most traditional 2D platformers. This is especially true compared to the regurgitated slop Mario was serving up on the same system. The Wii U never stood a chance.

Sin and Punishment Review

 (Originally published to Glitchwave on 8/13/2024)

[Image from igdb.com]

Sin and Punishment

Developer: Treasure

Publisher: Nintendo

Genre(s): Rail Shooter

Platforms: N64

Release Date: November 21, 2000

Sin AND Punishment? This game has everything! Sign me the fuck up! Easy, obnoxious jokes about the title aside, for some time, westerners such as myself couldn’t sign themselves up to relish in Nintendo’s third-person rail shooter. Sin and Punishment is yet another example of a hidden gem whose esoteric status stems from a lack of an international release outside of Japan. The Japanese public was the lucky few given the blessing to play Sin and Punishment at its initial release on the N64, while everyone elsewhere had to jump over a generation to download it on the Wii’s extensive Virtual Console application. All of my gamer peers over here in the United States were salivating like hungry dogs at the looming possibility of finally playing Sin and Punishment, for we heard from all of the reliable sources on the internet that this game was the tits (metaphorically speaking, of course). Once it emerged on a legitimate platform over here, those rumors of Sin and Punishment satisfying those cravings for a damn good video game were definitely affirmed. But why was the game’s global prestige deferred in the first place? Digressing from the peculiarly adult title that sounds like the memoir of a dominatrix, perhaps Sin and Punishment’s confinement to its eastern homeland of Japan can be extrapolated through its gameplay, presentation, and narrative to understand why they kept it to themselves for so long.

Maybe someone from the land of the rising sun will be able to explain what the fuck is occurring in Sin and Punishment’s story. Similarly to several other rail shooters, Sin and Punishment is science fiction-themed, and its art style exudes something of a quasi-cyberpunk aesthetic that compliments the futuristic tone and setting. From what I gather, the antagonists of Sin and Punishment are the “Ruffians,” a species of cybernetic creatures that were apparently engineered as a food source for the famine-stricken people of the then-near future of 2007 Japan. Naturally, these genetic monstrosities weren’t going to stand for the eradication of their kind through mass consumption, so they began attacking the humans as a sign of retaliation. A military group called the Armed Forces was then assigned to eliminate the Ruffian threat but then decided to form an allegiance with the Ruffians to hegemonize the Japanese public to a tyrannical reign between the two factions. Only a psychic girl named Achi and her two friends, Saki and Airan, have the necessary moxie and resources to overthrow their oppressors. Summarizing Sin and Punishment’s premise required a bit of additional research and even with a detailed explanation of the narrative’s context, it’s still rife with more holes than a leaking bucket. How did the futuristic agriculturalists actually expect the people of their nation to feasibly eat these gargantuan bugs and humanoid mechs that have more metallic substances in them than an automobile? What could be the Armed Forces’ motive for subjugating the already destitute civilians, and how did they achieve this position of power working with what are essentially cattle? One would think the Ruffians have such little sway in transformative governmental revolutions that it's laughable, but evidently, this is not the case. My resources don’t have an explanation for this, I don’t have an explanation for this, and I’ll bet that the guy who drummed this shit up in his sleep doesn’t either. Perhaps the strangest thing about Sin and Punishment is that despite the game’s restriction to Japan, the game is fully voice-acted in English (albeit incompetently) with Japanese subtitles scrolling along the screen so the only viable player base can understand. Color me befuddled.

Fortunately, Sin and Punishment’s story is practically irrelevant in the grand scheme of the game’s principal qualities. If you're familiar with the work of the chief developer Treasure from their previous titles such as Gunstar Heroes and Alien Soldier, you can likely guess what Sin and Punishment has in store for the player regarding the rail shooter gameplay. Sin and Punishment bombs the player with a blustering blitzkrieg of bullets so veritably staggering that even breathing will make them susceptible to swallowing a blast of lead energy. To describe Sin and Punishment’s gameplay as “fast-paced” would be a glaring understatement. I’ve never seen the concept of inertia act to this maximalist extent before I played Sin and Punishment. This game’s pacing is pure caffeine topped off with a splash of juice from a wild bull’s adrenal gland. Never in any game that I’ve played, much less in the rail shooter genre, have I witnessed such a shameless bombast. Something or someone explodes every millisecond and after that chain of explosions is another waiting around the corner at breakneck speed. Sin and Punishment jostles the player around so vigorously that they’ll hardly have time to mentally process everything assaulting them. Yet, that’s what makes Sin and Punishment so appealing. Sometimes, it feels exhilarating to let one’s hair down and let the excess flow through your pleasure centers without being bothered by skepticism, kind of like an acid trip.

I’d revel in the extreme, crack-addled action of Sin and Punishment if controlling the character in the midst of battle wasn’t so excruciatingly tedious. Sin and Punishment’s, let’s just say…unorthodox control scheme was a calculated plot by Treasure president Masato Maegawa. This man was concerned that the D-Pad located on the left side of the N64 controller was feeling dejected because the analog protuberance in the center was receiving all of the attention due to the new, 3D spatial range that it accommodated. Utilizing the lonely left D-Pad is a nice gesture and a unique mechanic for the console but in practice, it’s like emphasizing the pinky toe during regular walking movement. The player has to use both directional units on the controller in tandem with one another to execute two indispensable facets of the game’s control scheme. The D-Pad alters the position of the character’s body on the restricted horizontal plane, and the analog stick moves the targeting crosshair. The B and A buttons will activate the jumping and shooting controls respectively. I already abhor the N64 controller for its awkward shape and mismanaged placement of its various implements, and humoring Sin and Punishment’s control scheme by treating the controller like a Twister gamepad is liable to give every player premature arthritis. I played this game on a Gamecube controller connected to the American Wii version, so my appalled critiques are essentially on the principle of the matter. Still, even with a competently designed controller, there is absolutely zero synergy between this absurdly cumbersome schematic. Tasks that I thought were simple such as jumping and moving have been congested by the equal precedence by so many other controls that should've been reworked with more consideration. I feel handicapped by Sin and Punishment’s controls and considering the game moves at a blistering speed, it’s quite a hefty encumbrance. Either automatically control the character’s physical movement or incorporate a more direct marriage between shooting and moving like in Star Fox 64. In addition, I thought the beam sword in Saki’s hand was an illusion until I accidentally unsheathed it for a second while attempting to shoot. Triggering this weapon for up close and personal combat situations is executed with the same button as the gun, but I swear that the player has to touch the button so gingerly to differentiate the action that it would be more responsive to the shaking of a sneeze rather than a finger press.

Sin and Punishment’s controls are only the tip of the iceberg of frustration that’s wedged between my full enjoyment of the game. A common descriptor most gamers assign to Sin and Punishment is “arcadey,” and I also feel like that term isn’t selling the whole truth. Sin and Punishment’s design encompasses so many clear-cut arcade game tropes that it’s practically a textbook example of a game developed for the remote gaming peripheral, and telling me otherwise is like trying to convince me that Alexandra Daddario isn’t a woman. I even double-checked during my research to reveal the truth of this matter and despite my incredulity, Sin and Punishment was crafted exclusively for the N64. Now I’ll believe anything. The underlying issue of assigning this descriptor to a console game is that it comes with a steamer trunk full of negative connotations that I associate with the typical translation from an arcade game to a console game. It goes without saying that Sin and Punishment does not offer infinite continues. Understandably, the game has a brief overall playtime, and the game admittedly does offer plenty of health items and reward perks to slightly mitigate the permanent punishment for failure. Still, Sin and Punishment bombards the player with so much from the opposition that the only way they’ll be able to anticipate any of it is through organic practice. However, the game ensures that the player will not receive a limitless chance to hone their skills because the game subscribes to an arcade ethos of penalty. The player must also eliminate their targets pronto because a clock will be ticking overhead. 99 seconds is the time limit given to complete a swathe of a level that will keep declining to zero until the player completes a milestone. Over a minute-and-a-half seems like a reasonably merciful period to abide by, but the swathe of progress needed to be completed seems to be arbitrarily assigned by the game. Some sections are short and sweet, while others will have the player praying for relief until the time limit is up and the player’s health bar slowly bleeds dry. There is simply too much stacked against the player for them to succeed.

Defeating a boss is one accomplishment that will consistently replenish the game’s time gauge. Sin and Punishment offers formidable foes with screen-spanning health bars aplenty, and I’d consider them to be an exemplary aspect of the game. Every boss that the player stumbles upon in their quest to dismantle the Ruffian’s reign is quite memorable, commenting mostly on their imposing stature and not because the player will likely face them countless times on repeat cycles. Radan is the first sizable boss and the first to require another method to defeat besides relentless shooting. The villainous Brad and his felonious feline companion, Leda, will give the player a taste of what it’s like to combat two significant foes simultaneously. A mention should go to the avalanche of living boulders that block the progression of a moving subway car that takes place ten years in the future where Saki and Airan are the proud parents of a healthy young boy (yes, this game’s plot still remains nonsensical), for both its bizarre design and creative means of dispatching it. The last duel of the game is truly the pinnacle of final bosses in gaming, much less just Sin and Punishment. The war of attrition between the onslaught of meteorites that the mimicry of Earth launches and the bullet fire of Ruffian Saki defending the original evokes an epic atmosphere unmatched by most other titles. I think what I enjoy the most from these bosses is the fact that the pollution of extra firepower from enemies is not applicable, so the player has the opportunity to concentrate and learn their attack patterns accordingly. However, every boss has a trick up their sleeves that will catch the player off guard and harm them for their unadorned reflexes, so ultimately, the player might not gain the necessary familiarity with these bosses because of the penalties that are still at play.

I can now conclude that Sin and Punishment’s relegation to its country of origin is a classic case of perceived Japanese superiority. Oftentimes, many gaming publishers, especially Nintendo, refuse an international release of a title for fear that Western audiences will become uncomfortably confused and put off by its “foreign” and “highbrow” content. I challenge any Japanese person to analyze Sin and Punishment sufficiently, for I don’t believe that anyone could withstand bewilderment from the game regardless of nationality. Sin and Punishment is an ostentatious rollercoaster ride backed by a feverishly obtuse plot conjured up by an overworked and overmedicated man over at Treasure. The only way any of this is passable is if it was all crafted with the arcade in mind, for the scope of the setting conveys a totally polar aura than that of a home console arrangement. If I could play Sin and Punishment with friends over drinks in a dimly lit public room, it would be the first machine I’d dart towards. In a perfect world, lines would be formed at every Dave and Busters establishment for the chance to engage in Sin and Punishment’s extravagant splendor with local kids fawning over it from afar.. Alas, its allocation to the N64 system and working around the incompatibility of the console with the game’s arcade attributes makes the game rather ill-conceived. As a result, Sin and Punishment emphasizes the punishment aspect of the title more than anything else. But what sin was committed by gamers to warrant this? Having fun? Expecting clemency in a post-arcade gaming climate? How dare we.