NES - Astyanax

Haiku-Review:

with bad dialogue
a studly teen conquers death;
loves a butterfly

Additional Comments:

A somewhat recent acquisition, it sort of fell into my hands on a whim as well as a recommendation based purely on personal interest; not necessarily quality of gameplay. I really had no idea what Astyanax was on about other than being told it was a fantasy-based platformer. And if it wasn't for that smidgen of information, I'd still be under the belief that it was just another generic, deep space STG (realize that I was completely unfamiliar with any sort of artwork at the time) and likely forego the chance to give it the old college try. After all, macrocosmic shooters bear the weirdest names of all so it seemed a perfectly sound hypothesis.

After popping the game in for some quick testing, my initial reaction found the game more than satisfactory. Despite a clunky Castlevania-esque gameplay motif, the larger-than-life sprites gave the game a unique edge - not necessarily for the better, but enough to plant a seed of intrigue. However, when I finally got around to sitting down with this game and started pushing for overall victory, the intrigue melted away and was replaced with the dim reality that is Astyanax.

This is one of those games where I believe the ideas worked on paper and then somehow...what? What happened? There's something about the game that feels sloppy, but I can't exactly pinpoint it. Maybe it's the atrocious dialogue, maybe it's the unimaginative feel, or maybe it's the shoddy hitbox dimensions. I'd say it's my old nemesis, knockback, but that's a whole other can of worms that I'll get to shortly. Besides, it doesn't really compound the issue at hand. Actually, the amorphous hitbox is a pretty diabolical problem, but I think it's all the cutscenes that are so offputting. First off, the story is contrived and drags on ad nauseum. Secondly, the game is run amok with pedestrian names. At first, I figured the game was playing off the banality of The Princess Bride à la Rosebud is to Astyanax as Buttercup is to _______, until I realized the total lack of creative naming across the board. Blackhorn? Thorndog? Sheesh, this stuff is making Brooks' look like a fantasy naming genius. At least some of the place names make up for it with the likes of Remlia, Telugamn, or even Marshy - which despite its obvious "add Y" cop out, it does have a nice little ring to it. Already, the game feels cheapened. But then there's the gut wrenching dialogue.

Before I berate the script, I suppose I should look at it realistically. The median age of Nintendo's customers during the 80s/90s was likely 10. Space is always at a premium on cartridges of old, so any way to condense anything and everything into as little space as possible is always a priority. And last but not least, the likelihood that any gaming company would actually use an author of even meager status to pen a tale, especially something that's 100 lines long, if you're lucky, was nil to none. I picture Joe Schmo from accounting as the author of choice. And that's how it is in most games, but Astyanax reeks of puerile fan fiction at its worst. It really hit rock bottom when Astyanax confronts Thorndog, with the following dialogue spurred by Cutie's inquiry to the princess's whereabouts:

Thorndog: "Ha ha ha..... You are a noisy fly. She will be a slave to Blackhorn soon."
Astyanax: "Wrong ugly! First I'll destroy you, then I'll rescue her."
Thorndog: "Tough talk, insect! Can you back it up?"

There's a lot of eye-rolling material out there in the early days of cutscenes - hell, even today. But having to read something this awful is an insult to writers everywhere. This is the type of stuff that I just have to walk away from, and for a while, I did. I suppose we can only count our lucky stars that voice-over wasn't a viable option at the time. I feel I should chastise the plot as well (thbbt), but I can't point all my fingers at something that can be considered wholly optional to the core gameplay (in a way).

Getting down to the mechanics, the hitbox is misleading - not overly, but enough to aggravate. This is most noticeable in Marshy (which is my least favorite level by the way), where Astyanax's "ethereal aura" appears to extend beyond his physical means in a forward facing direction. No matter how much distance I tried to keep, those spear-wielding muck monsters could always land a hit even when it was blatantly obvious that there was air between the spearhead and our intrepid hero. And thanks to knockback and thin ledges, well it's no wonder Marshy made my shitlist. Additionally, I lacked confidence in Astyanax's jumping. I often felt shortchanged, but not sure if was down to jump pressure or bad luck. This often resulted in near misses on my end, but guaranteed contact by others. Inazumi also played far more difficult than it really was because of this, but I think I can also attribute that to some faulty object clipping. Nevertheless, this appears to be a common theme: faulty and/or sloppy programming that ended up hurting what could have easily been a fun little romp through fantasy land. What really aggravates me though is that all, or nearly all of the game's difficulty was directly attributed to these programming infractions. Surprisingly, the game's pretty easy once you realize that patience is the key - again, very Castlevania-esque. Actually, the game reminds me a lot of Legendary Axe. But neither of those titles relied on shoddy gameplay as a means of difficulty.

However, something that both this game and Castlevania fell back on as a means of difficulty: knockback. I fucking hate knockback. In certain games, knockback works, for instance the Golden Axe series. But here, knockback is nothing but a brutal bitch where it's conveniently coupled with nasty little groupings of short ledges and edge-hugging enemies. Under normal circumstances, this is a highly antagonizing, yet totally fair setup with systematic difficulty. Add knockback to the equation and it's nothing but bad level design, especially when you're dealing with a slipshod hitbox. Yes, the difficulty isn't that much harder as long as you traverse with total composure and utilize pixel-perfect landings, but difficulty shouldn't stem from a rather adverse aftereffect either. The argument can be made for or against the effect based on the initial hit - if you're hit, you're hit - but it's the total lack of control versus severity of punishment. And it's most frustrating when being tormented by a hail of fiery pollen from the various insidious flora that inhabit the lands. No matter how carefully you position yourself, the pollen will always knock you in the opposite direction from the one expected.

Overall, the game turned out to be a disappointment. It had its moments, but the ease and predictability as I pushed further into the game only added to my pain. Realizing the trend of magic weakness possessed by every boss negated any sense of accomplishment. As a result, I never felt like the game climaxed, even with Thorndog's seal of evil forcing sacrifice and/or the final confrontation with Blackhorn. The game played as a mediocre pill from beginning to end and that's exactly what it was. And it's a shame too, because as I said, my initial reaction proved a worthy purchase.

Even the music was a letdown. More appropriately, the music was monotonous and grating. Well, maybe not all of it - Prologue has a nice mysterious ring to it, and Remlia has a distinctively bouncy feel to it. But most of the remaining soundtrack urged me to mute the TV.

Nano-Rant:

I played through this entire game without knowing that Astyanax had additional spells at his disposal. Heck, I don't even know what the other spells do.

Rating: 2.5 noisy flies out of 5

PS1 - Jet Moto

Haiku-Review:

cinematic lean
skews televised horizon;
causes many spills

Additional Comments:

Yet another arcade-style racer that I picked up in my inaugural days of Playstation excitement; I was sold on Jet Moto's over the top fantasy tracks that reminded me so much of the material previously presented in F-Zero. Of course, F-Zero's flatland, planetary themed tracks beheld a stark difference from Jet Moto's "down to earth" beach courses or its romps through some cypress-laden swamp; all of them replete with altitude. Nevertheless, I wasn't facing the famed Maggotts/Becketts complex of Silverstone, the magnificient Eau Rouge or Pouhon of Spa-Francorchamps or even the Carousel at Infineon. Instead, I bravely traded wits with a mighty waterfall, a broken glacier, and a myriad of head-on collisions. Huzzah!

Honestly, there's something to be said about fantasy tracks. 99.9% of the time, they're complete garbage. There's a reason why track design is left to true geniuses of the craft and not some arbitrary game designer who willy-nilly slaps a string of corners together and calls it a day. Yes, I know there's far more work that goes into fantasy track design, but often, that's just how they come across. There's a certain lack of rhythm or finesse. However, game designers have really stepped up their game in recent years when it comes to fictitious layouts. But then you have these games that heartily embrace a true arcade nature where the developers are given absolute freedom to create these outrageous courses in which complete and total peril reigns. The idea is to forego safety and conventional physics and let the player enjoy the ride of his life. This is where your F-Zero's and Jet Moto's fit in; even up through the Wipeout or Burnout series. F-Zero perfected it in its initial release - not so confident about the others myself - but for Jet Moto...we'll call it above average, or at the very least, acceptable.

At first, the tracks are tame, yet littered with enough precarious obstacles to keep the adrenaline going. As the game progresses, the insanity thickens until eventually fear and awe accompany the nightmare that is Nightmare. Sitting on the brink of doom, this track is...bullshit! And that is the kindest, most elegant way to express my appreciation of this track. But more on that later. While the game institutes a progressive track ladder, the standard of difficulty is rather erratic. There's certainly nothing to complain about in the Amateur ranks, until you apathetically meander through the unimaginative Hammerhead. Actually, I really shouldn't complain about that since Hammerhead guarantees victory every time, whether you're just getting your feet wet in the Amateur ranks or proving your genuine champion material in Master. But still, it really belongs in the Amateur ranks swapped with Suicide Swamp. The Intermediate rank becomes all the more curious as you further examine the remaining layouts. Cliffdiver, for example, is one hell of a punch to the gut with its entangling switchbacks. What's more, no matter how well you master the tricky combination of grappling with a counter-leaned tight radius turn, the computer driven bikes drive the section like they're on rails. It's little programming...we'll call them anomalies...like this that really drag a track down. Honestly, the switchbacks aren't that difficult once you get the feel for them, but knowing that time lost is inevitable, you really have to be on your A-game the remainder of the course, which isn't exactly easy either unless you've got a handle on the shoulder leans. Ice Crusher suffers from the rail "anomaly" in the final climb up to the start/finish line, but the remainder of the track is wide and lethargic enough that it doesn't necessarily impede a decent lap. Cliffdiver is, simply put, a tough track; more so than the black diamond Snow Blind and/or Willpower that follow in the Professional ranks.

That's not to say Willpower is a cakewalk - far from it. Willpower deserves the black diamond rating, but not because of an unfair advantage by the computer. This track suffers from an expected flaw of fantasy course design: a ludicrously asinine layout. This problem is even more apparent in Nightmare, and to a lesser degree, both in Snow Blind and Cliffdiver. These tracks represent exactly why game designers should not be track architects. They feel like the designers threw a bunch of corner ideas in a hat and drew lots or just blindly scribbled a configuration on a discarded napkin. They're total chaos. Additionally, it feels like the tracks were designed without accounting for individual bike physics, namely lift. This is most glaringly obvious in Snow Blind where the track consistently crests within low clearance tunnels. The coup de grâce though has got to be the constant checkpoint placement upon every single summit, as if it was specifically outlined in the developer's notes. I don't know how many times I clotheslined those stupid structures thanks to an ill-timed turbo - or hell, even without a turbo.

When it comes to Pandora's Box, Nightmare is by far the worst. While I was able to tame the rest of the tracks; which Willpower was fairly straightforward once I learned the ideal locations for turbo utilization, I was never able to grasp the madness that is Nightmare. Polonius be damned, there is no method to this madness at all. Between Nightmare's layout and the constant battering from the other racers, I raced Master knowing that this race was nothing but a throwaway. And for me, that's the biggest misstep in the game. I really wished that the game had reordered the events within each difficulty mode and/or randomized it. Of course, you can do this on your own accord with the Custom tab, but Custom is an unofficial stab at the championship. I'd rather race the championship as a consistent driver and not as someone who has to push for enough of a lead so that I can totter around the final few events knowing that victory's in the bag. Oh well. Master's a bitch of a difficulty as it is, so who am I to complain how I secure the final blow to the competition.

What's funny is that when I played this game in my younger days, and I played the hell out of it too, I never made it past Intermediate. I ended up becoming so frustrated with the difficulty of the game, especially Ice Crusher, which looking back rather surprises me since that track is considerably easier than some of the other Intermediate ranked tracks. However, the game was still a blast to play so I'd spend hours racing custom seasons. Here it is years later, and I destroyed this game in less than a week. In fact, I think it took me just three nights to progress up through the various modes. I was rather surprised how easy I found the game this time around, easily sweeping victories on all but Joyride in Professional mode and taking at least four wins in Master. Strangely, Joyride turned out to be one of the hardest tracks for me to master, never once taking a victory outside of the Intermediate ranks, but I think I can attribute that to my light bike preference - stupid waves.

As far as music, hmm...I'm not so sure there's anything worth touching on. The music is certainly attuned to the provided environments, but after a while the surf and twangy, southern-fried Appalachia becomes a bit grating. Perhaps it's the track, but even the power of Cliffdiver claws at your ears with razor sharp talons eventually. And as far as the snow-based tunes, despite their initial intensity, they just sort of seep into the background; reminds me of the way NSMB Wii's music tragically disappears into mediocrity. Take Snow Blind, for example. It's not bad, but not great either and after a while, a bit passé - sort of has a next gen Sonic/Crush 40 ring to it as well. Bleagh...

Nano-Rant:

Let it be known that I will always pick handling and light weight over power and speed in any racing game, after all time is best gained or lost in the corners. Let it also be known that I abhor racing light weights in the midst of over-aggressive fatties. I don't mind arcade-racers that promote contact driving, but Jet Moto resorts to bumpin' & bangin' far too often. If it wasn't for the amount of time I spent off the track, I probably could have learned to appreciate both Willpower and Nightmare a whole lot more.

Rating: 3.5 Mountain Dews out of 5

GEN - Jeopardy!

Haiku-Review:

wagers of knowledge,
posing questions to answers -
really, a haiku?

Additional Comments:

Seriously though, is there any reason to write anything about this game? Jeopardy is Jeopardy is Jeopardy is Jeopardy, no matter the format or trivial differences found therein, except for Super Jeopardy. Ok, I'll concede that it's Jeopardy, but come on GameTek, since when does Jeopardy have four players? Granted, I'm unfamiliar with the show's pre-Trebek era, circa '64-75 and/or '78-'79, but that's neither here nor there. Besides, why toy with an already proven format? And this goes for any version of Jeopardy.

Now, I was chatting with a couple friends over the prospect of "finishing" Jeopardy and doing a write-up. The whole idea is asinine, but already knowing my eclectic list of games, I felt it only just to push my way into gaming's left field, especially after something as epic as Ocarina of Time. (Hmm, perhaps I should in turn follow this up with Hatris on the NES.) On top of that, can one really "finish" Jeopardy? I suppose a winning round is all you need. Then again, what of the 100% completion status? It feels like the Burger Time scenario all over again, or my far from fruitful Crystal Castles venture - damn you, 2600 and your many modes! With countless clues and categories, I could likely spend the equivalency of a real Jeopardy season until I've physically witnessed and answered, er...questioned every clue. Therefore it was time to come up with a compromise once again, much like the unbeatable titles of the points-based era. The most logical solution was to utilize the pre-2003 champions' ruling in which the champion would be retired after five consecutive victories. Not only does this tie in directly with the televised version of the game show, but it places a fair enough limiter to keep the game enjoyable long enough without becoming instantly stale by consistently repeating categories. Ha! Guess the joke's on me. I still had the pleasure of answering the same damn five clues within the Admirals category in six out of my seven games. Yes, I get it, the answers are: Christopher Columbus, John Paul Jones, Richard Byrd, George Dewey, and Hyman Rickover. I now have five more menial tidbits of information about historic admirals drilled deeper into my memory than I've ever cared to acknowledge. Now please, for the love of god, give me some different categories! Other culprits of repetition included the 1930's, Hunting, and Rocks & Minerals. (Insert gun-to-head emoticon here.) And the only reason I had to play seven games as opposed to a quick five, you may ask? Simply put, I wagered a large amount of money on a Daily Double during my second game and foolishly believed that a clover and a shamrock are one in the same. Son of a bitch! Wait a minute, they are the same!!!!

Interestingly, and most definitely sad to admit, I read various Jeopardy reviews posted around the net - namely for those titles that appeared on the various 8 and 16-bit systems. I did so out of curiosity's sake more than anything. After all, as I already wondered, what does one write about? A lot of them complained about the most incredibly mundane details, which I'll be the first to admit that I do that myself, but decrying the staleness of the white-on-blue clue screens or the limited avatar selection is a bit silly given what were dealing with here as a game. Pissing and moaning over the quality of a given answer though, that's another matter entirely. Again, a clover and a shamrock are the same fucking thing!!!

Honestly, there's nothing that takes away from the premise of the game. As long as it has two rounds of six categories with five clues each with increasing wager amounts as well as a single-shot final round and you're having to provide answers in question form to clues provided, then you're playing Jeopardy. SNL's Celebrity Jeopardy is still Jeopardy. Sixth grade science class Jeopardy is still Jeopardy. It's all Jeopardy. The integrity of the game may be somewhat lost in translation along the way, but it's still the same game at its core, much like the copious amounts of Monopoly's that flood the touristy gift shops of the world.

Ah! But there is a "mundane" detail that I wish to rail. Why, oh why, does the computer insist on attempting every clue - and not just one, but both computer controlled players. This needlessly drags a game out for far too long. Add to that, they don't bother ringing in until the timer hits zero. Talk about head-pounding aggravation, here it is in all its torturous glory. It doesn't only lead to a prolonged game; it also leads to a fairly well assured situation of a two-participant Final Jeopardy. Six out of my seven games, one of the computer players ended up in the negative early on and only made things worse as the game progressed as they felt the need to answer everything they possibly could whether they knew the answer or not. I suppose I shouldn't complain - easier victory for me - but it really takes away from the whole idea of gambling away your knowledge on 50's TV, Famous Baseball Quotes, or 17th Century British Naval Officers. Ok, maybe I made those last two up, but still.

Final Jeopardy:

It's the number of occurrences that Jeopardy's namesake appears within its post entire.

Rating: 2.5 shamrocks out of 5

N64 - The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time

Haiku-Review:

time-traveling Link,
seven years, a conundrum
Hyrule falls again?

Additional Comments:

Behold! Here stands one of the most acclaimed, if not the most acclaimed game of all time. And for those naysayers out there, just check out any number of top-ten games lists as documented by various gaming magazines, webzines, blogs, what-have-you from over the years. To make the task even easier, I found a nice little page that has accumulated a wealth of gaming lists, and well, no surprise here. Ocarina of Time has found its way into well over half of them; even accomplishing a bounty of top honors. Need I say more about its obvious preeminence? And it's not just Nintendo/LoZ zealots, it's the general gaming populace. Makes me wonder if I should cut this post short, slap on a 5 out of 5 and bask in the knowledge that for once I made a non-controversial post, for everyone's an Ocarina fanboy (or girl) and to say otherwise is heretical of the utmost degree. Post complete, ego boosted, everybody pleased....

Or maybe I'll choose to make a post that falls in line with the rest of my choleric banter whilst cowering behind the anonymity of internet authorship. After all, let's face it, despite the game's brilliance, it has smugly lumped itself on a heaping of undeserved ego for far too long. Maybe I'm just a lone outsider that doesn't fully understand the quality and scope of the game, or maybe I've felt a wee twinkle of the Triforce of Courage myself to stand tall and not be bought in by the copious OoT fandom that runs rampant, and is very nearly turbocharged thanks to our friend the internet. Meh, words will only tell.

I'm not trying to antagonize the Zelda faithful, or hell, even the casual Zelda gamer, but I am a bit puzzled over how this game has managed to rank so favorably by so many people. This alone makes me believe that I'm just overlooking something glaringly obvious, or it's time to face the truth: I'm a disagreeable twit in the world of video games. But really, I'm just making it sound worse than it is. Ocarina of Time is not a bad game. It's not even a mediocre game, or dare I say, good game. No. Ocarina is flat out fantastic. However, despite it being a total game changer, it's not a 10 out of 10 game. Yes, the presentation is immaculate, the gameplay is spot on, the world along with its numerous multi-level dungeons is a joy to explore, the story is engrossing (regardless of the inevitable befuddling invoked by any time-travelling tale), and the innovation, not just in the Zelda franchise, but in gaming in general, is beyond respect, but - and I really hate to insert such a nasty little conjunction; not just because of the general consensus regarding the game, but also out of my own admiration of the game - there is something amiss.

How can a game so perfect feel so imperfect? For me, knowing my storied past with the N64, the controller is the obvious scapegoat. Ah yes, that clunky, obtuse, plastic gargantuan that forces your fingers akimbo in the most ridiculous button rumba no matter the title. But I've got two reasons why the Nintendo 64 controller has been blessed with impunity. For once, Nintendo completely nullified the Lord of the Dance fingering tactics allowing easy control throughout - reason enough to applaud the game as it tamed the unwieldy beast. Additionally, my first playthough was done using the Legend of Zelda: Collector's Edition on the GameCube which uses an exponentially better controller, but more importantly, I vividly recall the same mild uneasiness flooding my receptors as I plodded through the game. It was this general sense of while I loved the game, I never quite loved the game - if that makes any sense. There's a certain something that just sort of rubbed me the wrong way. It was never enough to blemish the game into any sort of unfavorable obscurity, but enough to make me question its merit and knock it off its smug little perch. But what troubles me is that I can't really explain what it is.  Sounds argumentative for the sake of being argumentative - so that I can flick the white glove and snidely remark, "Pshaw your Ocarina of Time" - but it isn't.

I'm really pounding my head against the wall on this one and the reason is that every time I'm certain I've stumbled upon the crux of the problem, it's not really the problem. For instance, the intuitiveness of the game, it's completely bonkers. Looking at any other Zelda game, everything makes sense. Sure, some of the puzzle solutions may really ruffle your feathers, but when you find the solution you feel like the biggest dolt in the world because the answer was so blatantly obvious given the tools provided. Ocarina, on the other hand, doesn't quite adhere to this logic. In my pursuit to 100% it, I had to turn to GameFAQ's to hunt down the remaining few heart pieces and handful of Skulltula's that I missed. This was when the game really began to frazzle me. What ever would make me think to play the Song of Storms to open up a hole in the ground? There's no logic behind this and no insight that the Song of Storms is more or less equivalent to an ordinary shovel. Maybe if I learned the song from a ditch digger, that'd at least be something. And it's not just that. It's little irrational nuances throughout the game that shoulder enough of an annoyance to keep the game from perfection. I'd be happy to admit ignorance on my part if that were the case, but only if such were the case across the entirety of the Zelda series, stretching from Legend of Zelda all the way to Twilight Princess (I haven't played Skyward Sword yet, so...), but I've never had this problem in any other Zelda game, even Majora's Mask and well...I'll leave that for another time. Granted, my above example is unessential if you're just out to beat the game, so complaints seem arbitrary at best, but for me, it was just piling on to that mysterious strain of imperfection.

So then, what killed me on the straight and narrow if we're to shove all the optionals aside? I think it has to be item use. Looking back on my Link to the Past post, I talked about how that game nailed the item versus environment usage. It felt like the developers built the overworld with every single item in mind and did so without needlessly abusing certain items or using certain items just because they can. In Ocarina, it felt like these two entities; both very important to a Zelda game, were built with a blind eye towards the other. They never wholly interconnect with each other properly, and when items were put to use, it felt tacked on. Of course, this wasn't a prevalent problem, but when the two didn't quite gel, it felt ridiculously cheap. Again, I can refer back to the Song of Storms. Let it be a singular key. Were not going to feel duped because that one song only serves a single purpose. Same can be said with the dungeons. Why am I having to play the Song of Time or Zelda's Lullaby for puzzles that are not only blatantly obvious to solve, but serve no real purpose other than to add an extra 30 seconds to the dungeon so we can hear one of these two songs for the nth goddamn time? At least the other items don't conjure a needless cutscene. Once or twice is fine. There are, in fact, a couple spots where the Song of Time is wisely used to solve a puzzle, but elsewhere - you've got to be kidding me.

Taking a step back though and looking at it all realistically, I can see why most of these nuances exist. It was the first 3D Zelda game which meant two things. One, it was a testing ground for what can be done in this fantastic new dimension of gameplay. Fortunately, Nintendo pretty much nailed it on their first try and the hiccups that did occur were corrected as the series progressed. And two, it's only expected that Nintendo was going to pull out all the stops. Essentially, they had nothing to lose, and given the track record of Super Mario 64, it was obvious that free-roaming 3D landscapes and models were more than enough to win everyone over. Basically, if we were met with another topdown Zelda with any of the aforementioned blunders, the series would have likely stumbled. But being that it was 3D, there was more than enough inherent confidence that anything wrong could easily go overlooked. No harm, no foul really. And given what the video game industry was going through at the time, the game is not only revolutionary, but a respected trendsetter in what the newly emergent 3D world of gaming should strive for. At the time, yes, I can fully understand why it was a top rated game - a 10 out of 10 if you will. But I also think the wee nasties were swept under the rug at the time thanks to the idea of the right place at the right time.

Even now, it still is a top rated game in my eyes. Not as great as everyone claims, but great nonetheless. In the Zelda franchise itself, it's my third favorite, and honestly, it's by a mere fraction that Ocarina deserves the third step of the podium. If Twilight Princess wasn't more or less an Ocarina reskin (haters can hate, but that's really how I see it), it'd probably edge it out. Plus the motion control bullshit sort of hinders it as well. Thanks a fucking lot, Nintendo Wii!!! But nevertheless, Ocarina is still a great Zelda game, and is always the go-to game that I recommend if no one's ever played a 3D Zelda before.

So there it is. Yes, I harangued it a bit, but was it really so bad? And think about this: I did so without once vilifying the Water Temple. Ah ha! But seriously, I wish I could pitch it as a perfect game, but  I guess the bumps just hit me harder than, well most anyone else. C'est la vie.

But let's end on a pleasant note. No matter the title, one thing the Zelda series does and does well is carry a soundtrack that not only exemplifies mood, but locale as well. Add to that the timelessness and Zelda games are worth the music alone. From the moment we're graced with the beautiful strums and warm clippity-clop of Title, it's all over. I know some may complain about the absence of the original title tune, but Ocarina's opening tune is magic. And then you have some incredible locale pieces such as the expressive Hyrule Field (always loved that mysterious low warble thrown in there), the ominous vacuum of Inside the Deku Tree, the exotic mystique of Potion Shop, or the country-sad twang of Lon Lon Ranch. I could go on and on with so many others too. But for me, it's always been about Gerudo Valley. That song is fucking tits!

Nano-Rant:

Dammit, I can't even end on a good note. Ok, despite my appreciation of the story, I've always been bothered by this Sheik character. To hell with spoilers (oh wait...spoilers alert), but it's always bugged me that Zelda can so casually perform feats that Link needs either tools or to work up a rigorous sweat to accomplish. If she's so damn limber, knowledgeable (seriously, she's knows everything about anything whereas Link knows jack squat), and able, then why doesn't she put in her fair share of effort? Oh, she used her stun beam to hold Ganon after Link did all the dirty work. What, did she forget she had that ability when the battle started? Thanks a lot...stupid, clueless bitch! And thanks for planting the seed in my head to claim the Master Sword so that I can lose my youth as I wait in stasis for seven years in limbo! But I digress.

P.S. There's so much more I want to talk about: more of my personal history with the game (namely why I never finished it on my first playthrough), the Boss Battles (namely Ganon's), Poe Hunting and other ludicrous side adventures, and of course everyone's favorite OoT debacle, the Water Temple. But alas, I'm afraid I've overstayed my welcome far more than I should have already with this game.

P.P.S. The ship in the Shadow Temple is pure win!!! Rack that up as ending on a good note.

Rating: 4.5 cute little Bombchu Bowling clerks out of 5