PS1 - Destruction Derby 2

Haiku-Review:

all those pile-ups...
but Ultimate Destruction,
where's the destruction?

Additional Comments:

Everything I can possibly say about this game, I pretty much summed up for the original Destruction Derby, even this game's superiority. Well, perhaps I didn't exactly go into detail, or did I in a rather backhanded way against the original title. Hmm...

Then where to begin? I'll go with tracks as I find this particular area of the game to be the most prominent and apparent change for the better. Unlike Destruction Derby's bland, geometric, cookie-cutter snore fests, Destruction Derby offered up a variety of locales that not only feel unique but organic. In some capacity or another, most of the tracks here feel completely plausible whereas those in the original game feel like they were quickly scrawled on a piece of graph paper - 90° corners here followed by more 90° corners there and voilà: a horrible right angled mess overrun with constrictive straights and a serious lack of imagination. But for a first attempt, I can accept it...to a point.

Now, however, the tracks have inherited flowing corners, proper contours, and the ability to hold the entire field without forcing unwanted congestion unless the design specifically calls for it, as is the case with Chalk Canyon. Constriction is completely permissible, and welcomed, in Chalk Canyon's bottleneck because it's an inherent part of the track's design - a clusterfuck of stunts, jumps, and thrill rides to cause as much mayhem as possible. Sadly, Ultimate Destruction attempted to follow suit but failed in every imaginable way.

While I applaud Destruction Derby 2's tracks, I'm left scratching my head over Ultimate Destruction. Every other track is great. Yes, even Pine Hills Raceway despite it being nothing more than a boring old tri-oval where even the slightest mistake draws massive consequences. But that's the breaks when it comes to momentum tracks. Very rarely could I even manage to crack a top 12, and typically I'd just consider it a throwaway race; even when it comes to Wrecking mode, but more on that later. Getting back to Ultimate Destruction, the track is a menace, and not in the inviting smash 'em, crash 'em action we're promised. Despite having a ghastly layout comprised of tight turns, narrow straights, crossovers, and a couple serious jumps, this track is garbage. Never mind it being horrible to drive, especially if you accidentally take the left fork at the first split - good luck getting through those narrow twists unscathed and at speed - the track is remarkably existing under false pretenses. For as many times as I've played this game, both now for Beat All Games, and way back when it first came out and it found its way into my PlayStation possibly more than any other game save perhaps Formula 1 and Sim City 2000, I have never seen more than one, maybe two cars drop out of this race that weren't affected by my own forced ruthlessness. That's equivalent to Pine Hills Raceway, but the small attrition rate is to be expected there - it's a tri-oval. Ultimate Destruction, by namesake alone, is expected to be automobile carnage. I'd expect it to be Red Pike Arena incarnate in racing form, that is, all and all out racing melee. Instead, suddenly everyone becomes recipients of Allstate's safe driver program while I'm left to ricochet from barrier to barrier because the track is so fucking impossible to drive. Of course, I exaggerate. I can make clean laps from Rookie to Pro, but I doubt I'll ever manage a clean race, which I can do anywhere else - yes, even Chalk Canyon.

But it's not racing Ultimate Destruction in Stock Car mode that aggravates me the most. Between Black Sail Valley and Liberty City, it's more than easy enough to pick up the necessary points to just tank Ultimate Destruction if warranted. Ultimate Destruction is the true throwaway race. Congratulations, Pine Hills Raceway, you're actually a better track than what should have been the pinnacle of racing mayhem. In a way, Ultimate Destruction is akin to any of the Rainbow Roads in the various Mario Kart games. They're always overrated layouts that are nothing but a chore to drive yet they're supposed to be the end all beat all climatic joyride of the game. And so it is with Ultimate Destruction in Wrecking mode, or heck, even Death Bowl. What a miserable, asinine layout that thing is. Wrecking mode on Ultimate Destruction - what's the point? Thanks to Wrecking mode's magical, and predictable outcomes and a guarantee that I'll struggle just to skate by with a mere 50 points on this track, it's no wonder I find this track a grave misnomer. Destruction my ass. I'm guaranteed even less points in the final arena because chances are I'm going to be prematurely punted into oblivion. Thank god it's relatively easy to rack up the points in the first three races of the series.

I'm essentially beating a dead horse by this point, so moving on. Since I brought up Wrecking mode's mysterious maths concerning scoring, seems the perfect mechanic to transition to. Much like the first game, I love Stock Car mode, mostly because it's unpredictable. Anyone and everyone has an equal chance of winning any given race except for Learner Driver who is simply a failure at life. Although I vaguely recall years ago whilst playing the game, I actually saw him advance from Division 4 to Division 3. It must have been a result of divine intervention because I swear, given his driving, the programming must have a fail-safe to ensure Learner Driver sucks in every way possible. But that's not the point.

Point is, Stock Car racing is so much more enjoyable to play through because Wrecking mode's easily calculable from the get go. Points appear to be magically pulled from thin air and awarded based on Division as opposed to actual bumping and grinding out on the track. I can only figure this to be a necessary evil because the game can't correctly process all twenty cars at any given notice. Problem is, even if Psycho or The Skum is flipped in the first turn on the first lap with minimal interaction with anybody to cause such an accident, they're still going to miraculously rack up on average 225 points. On the other end of the spectrum, given Learner Driver's inability to steer, brake, or anything remotely driving related, should be bagging all sorts of points because he's doing nothing but running into everything that moves. Instead, he'll be lucky to score 35 points. The system is so broken and as such forces you to play the mode in a rather undesired way. For Division 3 and Division 4, it's easy to just circle the track and with a few easy grazes to outscore the competition, but in Division 1 and Division 2, you need to rethink your approach to the game, especially in Division 1 where you need to average 250 to 300 points in order to outclass everyone. Any sense of racing flies out the window at this point which is, frankly, depressing. Where exactly is the fun in parking the car; hopefully causing a twenty car pileup while the rest of the field gets to race the track knowing full well they're going to be awarded automatic points by race end? There's a definite imbalance in gameplay here. Maybe I'm just missing the point.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy performing head-on collisions, purposefully T-boning my rivals or simply imitating Learner Driver's stupidity but I feel like I'm missing out on the real fun as I watch everyone else zip by, spinning each other out at speed. That's the way Wrecking mode should function if the resulting accolades weren't so predetermined and were more factual to the racing that just occurred. Still, Wrecking mode is a blast to play since it instills a bit more madness in the AI over Stock Car mode. I think one reason the predictable outcomes infuriate me so is that there's a certain increased enjoyment in outpacing the other crumbums when the fight to stay on track becomes a serious point of contention. Too bad I only get a measly 50 point for a win. Might as well stick to my original plan and just park the car either on a sweeping apex or after a nefarious jump - essentially anywhere the AI may unfortunately break loose, tag my car and spin into a furious 720°.

What of the other improvements though? Somehow, I've found myself well off track disparaging an otherwise magnificent game. Besides the much loved and needed track upgrades, another welcome addition is modifying the division count from five to four. This is a massive, and in my opinion, vital change. Five divisions was not only unnecessary overkill, but slightly stripped a heightened sense of competition that becomes very apparent in Destruction Derby 2's increased division pools, even if that increase is only a single driver. Still, racing against four drivers as opposed to three feels far more nerve-wracking. Those podium positions are all the more important if the art of probability comes into play. Not only that, but it cuts down on the tedium of play tenfold. Four seasons, give or take a few seasons depending on promotion or rather, lack thereof, is perfect for a single spurt of gameplay. Destruction Derby's minimum of five seasons, however, dragged the game down - akin to slogging through thick, viscous mud in heavy denim. The misery.

Another welcome change - well, welcome may not be the best may to describe it. Expected? I'd call it questionable considering its replacement, but nonetheless gracious at least some sort of change was enacted. The pointless Destruction Derby mode from the first game has been replaced with the more heart-attack inducing Total Destruction. The obvious benefit: no longer do I have to sit through an entire season of single arena devastation. Instead, I can suffer through thirty seconds of all-out warfare upon the player. Holy shit! The AI have been reprogrammed with seek and destroy directives against me, and only me. What's the fun in that? I get that it's pure survivalist mode in all its glory, but it emphasizes survival over destruction. I find that it discredits the intent of the game. A better alternative, now that four arenas exist, that is if you choose to call Death Bowl worthy of the name, arena, they could have kept the original Destruction Derby mode model. Key difference is this time it would have worked because there's a quality of individuality among each arena instead of using the same boring circle over and over.

All in all, Destruction Derby 2 is a fantastic game and one of my favorite titles from the original PlayStation era. The graphics are well outdated, as is anything from that era, but I think they hold up for what they are. The physics and mechanics for the most part are flawless, save the aforementioned black magic math, and every now and then you're subject to some faulty collisions. Consider it a saving grace, but a number of times when collisions mysteriously turned off was ok by me. And then, the soundtrack: a direct followup to the original's adrenalin pumping thrash metal goodness. I find it strange to say "thrash metal" and "goodness" in the same sentence, as I'm not the biggest fan of the genre, but the music's so fitting for the car crunching action of Destruction Derby 2. However, take the game away, and I have a sneaky suspicion I'd rather detest the songs of Jug and Tuscan. Let's experiment: Dead Happy, How Do You Know, Pushed Away, Joyrider, Direction, and one of the greatest victory songs ever, Jade. Respect! Jug can really bring it and they proved me wrong. Even without the game, the soundtrack is killer.

Rating: 4.5 overzealous announcers out of 5

PC - Knife in the Park

Haiku-Review:

I feel the knife's soul
envelope my whole being
as I slash ninjas

Additional Comments:

Knife in the Park - what a fantastic title! I don't care what this game's on about, I throw my overwhelming support for such poetry itself. I culled this game from the darkest depths of the internet's forgotten void, where yesterday's websites, hosted files, and opinionated tirades go to die. In fact, Knife in the Park is so deeply suppressed in the archival ether that for the first time in Beat All Games' history, I had to take a screenshot of the game because even the vast ubiquity of the intrawebz failed to provide one. Like most of the unwanted fodder that floods the abyss of abandoned intellectual property, it's probable Knife in the Park's been left rotting with good cause. The likelihood that anyone will dare follow my footsteps and resurrect this five minute time killer from its digital grave is laughable. I can only chuckle at myself for doing that very thing, but then, how can you pass up something with a title like that?

In all honesty, I feel I could write a short essay on the title alone and what images manifested themselves within my mind - certainly not the quaint city park pictured above - as I contemplated learning more about this unusual suspect. I could only hope for the perfect imagery to compliment the title - the perfect gameplay. It stirred memories on a personal level regarding theme. Please, understand, I don't mean personal as in personal experience with knives and parks or any sort of twisted assemblage of the two, but in a manner of intellectual property striking mood or eerily unnerving gravitas. Consider it all TMI if you must.

But alas, much like its little brother, the incorrigible flash game, of which Knife in the Park may be better suited, my hopes were dashed by the menial task to slay my own boredom as I lazily washed my mouse back and forth over the mouse pad spilling the guts of every Tom, Dick, and Harry out to assassinate our immobile hero. That's not to say it's bad. It's...interesting. I'll give it that. But it's interesting for about two minutes and then it's time to move onto something else - again, much like 99% of the flash-based gaming world. However, at times, these games serve their purpose as does Knife in the Park. Got five minutes to kill while waiting for that troublesome download to finish; only three minutes to Wapner? Double click that pesky executable and slay some nettlesome ninjas with your sentient kitchen knife while you wait. Why the hell not?

What other options do I have? Stare blankly at the screen counting the seconds? I could always tackle Minesweeper for the nth time. Eh...tough call as they both exude about the same amount of quickly fading fun and excitement. Scratch that! Knife in the Park is a welcome alternative. In some respects, it reminds me of the old Adult Swim flash game, Five Minutes to Kill Yourself - just enough charm to hold your attention long enough to fully appreciate the game, which thankfully is quick and to the point. And from most games of this caliber, that's all I ask. So in all fairness, Knife in the Park succeeded.

But that doesn't mean it can just skate on by without the usual wag of the finger. There are issues. Well, it's hard to bolster such claims since there's so little to actually criticize, but there is one particular fault that's hard to overlook. Without lambasting the graphics in anyway, as I feel it would be unfair to a point, I have to question some of the aesthetic decisions concerning the blood splatters. After butchering a couple dozen ninja foes, the streets, the park, even the buildings become so caked in a gooey murder death scene that it begins to become difficult to pick out the latest wave of enemies. If only the splatters remained true to cliché gaming bloody goodness - that is splotches of red and only red instead of incorporating the ninja's blue clothing. Do those pixels of blue represent the living or the dead? Oh shit! They belonged to my accursed foes! I'm dead, and my honor, disgraced. The only thing left is ritual suicide. Or better yet; another common mechanic found across many games, why can't the blood function on a timer and disappear over time? Ah...who am I kidding? Should I really have expected polish from an archaic little time killer crafted a decade ago in Game Maker? What foolish expectations I hold.

Still, with a few improvements, Knife in the Park could have been far more tantalizing. And I'm talking simple improvements. For starters, let me see my score as I play instead of waiting around for a tragic end. Secondly, some sort of tier or level functionality would have done the game wonders as opposed to an incessant will to slaughter our lone hero in broken waves of ninja warriors - which seemed very random in its implementation. Some times only one or two ninjas would trickle out from the shadows and then I'd be left waiting for an eternity for the next wave of one or two lackeys. Other times, a mass barrage would pummel me from all directions, but it was never properly scaled over time. My highest scoring game, which led me to calling the game complete as it seems the game is endless, dragged on mercilessly as only a few stragglers came out to face the music at a time.

Ah, well. The game succeeded in its mission at least in that its functional and pulled me out of my rut for a good five or ten minutes. That's more than most flash games can manage, and even small victories like that account for something...I suppose. Maybe?

Rating: 2 audiovideo stores out of 5*

*Be aware, nearly 80% of that rating is thanks to the title. Ha!

SNES - F-Zero

Haiku-Review:

phenomenal speeds
high above the world's surface-
all will end in death!

Additional Comments:

It's taken a long time to finally put the beat down on F-Zero, but at long last it is done. And by long time, I literally mean a long time as F-Zero was, if memory serves, one of the earliest games enlisted for Beat All Games. I quickly pushed through Beginner and Standard and then just hit a wall on Expert's Queen League - damn those White Land menaces. King League only made matters worse and then...Master mode. Holy freakin' cow!! This shit is for real!

Before I go any further, I graciously admit to tool reliance on Master. No shame here, as I'd fear to even shake the hands of those who have the otherworldly gaming skills required to defeat Master. Now, it's possible I backed myself in a corner by relying on the wrong machine. I'm sorry but for the entirety of F-Zero's lifespan - take note, I originally got the game when it came out all those years ago in the bygone age of 1991; thank you, xmas - I have loathed Samurai Goroh and his pig of an anti-gravity racer. I'm aware it's the best car of the four. I'm just as aware of that today as I was some twenty years ago. And frankly, I don't care. Am I suffering Master needlessly because of my stubbornness? Perhaps, but again, I don't give a damn.

Despite battling F-Zero for what seems an eternity, I sadly have very little to say. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily since I consider F-Zero one of the best SNES game there is, one of the best arcade racers ever, and a damn near perfect game period; even if the upper echelon difficulty would prove the death of me long before I ever manage it toolless. There's little, if anything, to complain about. Playing it again after so many years away from the game, and having filled that void with a mountain of other racing titles, I will admit that I'm disheartened there's no rear view mirror. Seriously, that's likely my biggest and only honest to god complaint that isn't tainted by my own voluntary ineptitude. But that's a product of gaming advancement and becoming spoiled by the norm more than anything. I recall as a kid never feeling frustration because I couldn't properly check my rears. The check warning was more than enough to let me know where my arch rival loomed. Funny how little things like that can change with time. Still, so many times I attempted to press down, or X, or something for a quick glance behind. Oops! Follow that up with a quick slap to the head, you foolhardy idiot. It may no longer be 1991-'92, but F-Zero says "Bah!" to your 2014.

Believe it or not, my fondest memories of F-Zero was playing the game not as a hardcore arcade racer but as a time-killing playground adventure. It became my go to game whenever boredom struck, much like Grand Theft Auto III in later years. Mindless romps, I call these. I'd spend hours racing in the wrong direction, allowing excessive headstarts - how long could I sit on the start line before I had to run balls out to ensure I made the cut each lap - or simply trolling the other racers, punting whoever I could into the wild blue yonder when and if the anti-gravity system allowed. This left little concern for fastest laps or best overall race times or the fact that I never unlocked Master mode. Heck, whether or not I even knew there was a Master mode is beyond memory. During my progression for Beat All Games, I learned about Master mode and fell to my knees and cried. Expert is enough. I'm sorry, but it's enough. The desire to torture gamers with such rash difficulty is one of several reasons why I disliked F-Zero GX. There a time and place for ungodly difficulty and I'm of the opinion that F-Zero's Master mode is nothing more than a ridiculous ass hat laughing in my face.

But there's so much Nintendo did right with this game - namely everything else. The tracks are cleverly designed and a joy to race. Okay, maybe Death Wind II and Fire Field leave much to be desired, but for the most part even the most horrendous corners on many of the other tracks can be accepted with open arms. And the music...(enter zombie-like drooling here). Yet another soundtrack that is golden from beginning to end. Tracks like Red Canyon, Port Town, Finish, and my personal favorite: Silence, the game's worth fighting through for the aural explosion alone. It's soundtracks like this that provide sound reasoning behind arguments concerning the pinnacle of video game music existing in the earlier generations. Of course, I could argue both for and against the common perception, but I just can't argue F-Zero's monumental listening experience.

Overall, the game is a pure gem demanding any self-titled gamer's attention. I've only my own bullheadedness to blame - most likely - for attempting Master sans Goroh and come out crying, but stubbornness will always, and sadly, prevail. For those interested, my car of choice has always been Pico and the Wild Goose. Yea, I know next to the Blue Falcon, it's probably the worst choice out there so my contempt for the game's unrivaled difficulty is essentially baseless, but like many others out there, sometimes you just find something that works for you and stick by it...for damn near eternity. In Super Mario Bros. 2, I will always and only ever use Mario. In Super Mario Kart, I will forever swear by Koopa Troopa's unmatched cornering physics, and in F-Zero, well...Pico is my pilot of choice. I remember enjoying Dr. Stuart's Golden Fox as well in my youth, but frankly, it's a risk - its fragility far outweighing anything it can bring to the table. The Blue Falcon? Meh... And I've already made my peace with the Fire Stingray. Maybe peace isn't the best way to put it, but I shall consider it as such and as far as I'm concerned, the debate's no longer in the cards. Besides, I'm off track. Point is, F-Zero is arcade racing at its finest.

Nano-Win:

Over the past decade, it's saddened me that manuals have more or less gone the way of the dodo. Quickly thumbing through my copy of the manual as I type this post up, I'm reminded of one of the many reasons why manuals were so great and such an interesting and integral part to the whole "game experience." F-Zero's manual has a short comic that presents a sort of build up - pre-race ceremonies if you will - to the climactic role that the actual gameplay delivers. Nowadays, we get a single sheet of paper in which were lucky if it even has anything remotely game related. Ah, nostalgia.... Why are you so fondly remembered? F-Zero has the answer in every conceivable manner.

Rating: 5 magnetic field block coats out of 5*

*Good grief. That's a mouthful for what's essentially an ice patch.

GBA - Hello Kitty: Happy Party Pals

Haiku-Review:

cakes, shopping, dress up:
keys to a perfect party;
also - recycling?

Additional Comments:

A momentous occasion is upon us! With Hello Kitty turning 40 on November 1st, it seems only proper to prattle on about some childish filler staring the now certifiable cougar. Are you fucking kidding me!?

Er, confession time. My playing and beating such a ridiculous game has absolutely nothing to do with Miss Kitty White's coincidentally landmark birthday. Instead, my desire to play Happy Party Pals - a Hello Kitty title picked completely at random mind you - was first kicked about as a potential Beat All Games addition as a joke after an amusing name drop in one of Sven's old posts - Enslaved if I'm not mistaken. Hmm, Sven. Whatever happened to him? Anyway, he said something along the lines of Enslaved possibly not garnering the attention it should have which in turn may have affected numerous critical reviews negatively due to various other big hitters that came out at the same time sopping up all the acclaim. One particular title, which he facetiously slipped into the vast array of blockbusters, was Hello Kitty Party. Don't know anything about the game; don't care to, but I couldn't resist plugging the game's potential laurels yet further. And the more I thought about how ridiculous a hypothesis that Hello Kitty Party may have helped to nudge Enslaved from critics' top picks, the more a brilliantly foolish scheme began to blossom within my head.

From a fledgling little seed, I could only see pure lunacy in attempting such a game in the flesh as opposed to just making a hollow claim. Well, lunacy along with absolute boredom, embarrassment, and quite possibly the butt of all well-deserved heckling. Sounds worthy of the risk just to take a stupid, meaningless quip to the next level. Only, we're talking Hello Kitty and there was no way I could bring myself to actually purchase this drivel. Next best option, and a free one at that - time to comb various ROM dumps to see what I can dig up. And voilà: Hello Kitty: Happy Party Pals for the Game Boy Advance. Ugh. Am I really going to play this thing?

I'm willing to play just about any game. Sometimes, the crappier the game, the more I enjoy it. I've never been big for AAA titles, at least in the last decade. Doesn't mean I don't play them - I do. They're just usually not my first port of call. Instead, I tend to navigate towards neglected games or those that have been deemed unworthy by most, if not all, of the celebrated reviewers out there. I love perusing YouTube, forums, or various other sites looking for those games. There's just something about the uncelebrated that cries out, "Play me! They may not understand, but you'll understand." Often times, they were right. These games are given the cold shoulder for good reason. But then, I've come across some real gems this way. Could Happy Party Pals turn out to be one of those rare gems?

No. It's not a gem - not even close. Should that be any surprise though? Not at all. But believe it or not, it's not exactly a bottom feeder either. Sure, I dragged my feet for months as I invited Kitty's family and friends to a plethora of parties handing out gifts, making small talk, and spinning the latest tune on my little kitty-shaped boombox. This game is so mundane, so repetitious, so...pointless. I imagine Happy Party Pals to me is a horrifically watered down version of the barest essentials of social interaction that might be found on something like the Sims - though it's only a guess as I've never played a Sims title. Chat with Kitty's schoolyard chums, talk a stroll through the park or out along the beach, or take in the local arcade or some modest shopping. Can never have enough party balloons, I suppose.

The core of the game becomes a chore, especially once you finish the primary party objectives and move onto the bonus parties where the goal is to achieve 100% on what I assume is three different settings to obtain all of the bonus items. I can only assume this as I had to complete bonus parties inviting six guests, seven guests, and eight guests before I got my hands on what I believe is all the bonus items on offer. With little to no information floating around the web, I had to make a judgement call that the game contained eight bonus items. Fortunately, I at least found a site that verified the eight items I unlocked and saw no mention of any more. In my book, that's enough to consider the game complete. And given the tedious, unwavering nature of the game - hallelujah!

What's curious about Happy Party Pals' patterned gameplay however is that while it's apparent from the start that there's not much variety in terms of accomplishing the required goals - disregarding mini-games and Kitty's bountiful haul of presents to be - you're at least having to learn the ropes when it comes to Kitty's friends' likes and dislikes. For the first few parties, unless you're prepared to lug around several metric tons worth of treats, party favors, and gifts - from pretzels to seaweed salad, science books to golf balls, or even trampled aluminum cans - oh wait, I was meant to toss those in the nearest litter bin - the likelihood of scoring a perfect party is nil to none. Therefore, it's time to initiate conversation around town and learn about the perfect gift or invest in numerous rounds of memory; hoping the matched pairs will give some insight into what will turn Kitty into the hostess with the mostest. You can't always be the town darling serving Kitty cakes in the playroom while listening to down tempo oldies.

It wasn't until I finished my primary objectives and reached the bonus parties that I realized how painfully dull this game really is. Forget talking to anyone, recycling the town's garbage, memorizing preferred gifts, or really any aspect of the game. Other than all the required decorations, there's only one key item Kitty needs to obtain to throw a perfect party - the guitar. And best of all, we need to venture no further than the party store; an already required errand. Well, that's not entirely true because for some unknown reason, the party store doesn't carry the tablecloth. Instead, Kitty will have to bounce back and forth between the park and town hoping the goddamn tablecloth will magically spawn. Therefore, I present Happy Party Pals in six easy steps:

• Step 1: Send invitations - tedious part the first.
• Step 2: Obtain balloons, banner, and enough guitars equal to the number of invited guests by playing several rounds of Shop Hop - tedious part the second.
• Step 3: Force spawn the tablecloth in order to collect the last required decoration - tedious part the third.
• Step 4: Start the party and immediately chat everyone up to boost their happiness as high as possible. Thankfully, this is the least tedious portion of the run.
• Step 5: However, it's time to follow that with the most monotonous, laborious bullshit in the game. Play the stupid Guitar Hero imitation mini-game for each guest. Be sure to pop one of the victory discs into the boombox before time runs out to ensure total party immersion. Even grandpa will get down to that latest techno record. Who knew?
• Step 6: Congratulations!!! 100% party!!!

Fuck that stupid Guitar Hero game. It pretty much guarantees you a 50% happiness boost, but my god is it ever boring. If the mini-game at least offered a slight challenge or, you know, had a sense of syncopation between the song's rhythm and the required button presses. Worst of all, the scoring makes no fucking sense whatsoever. After two minutes of accurate taps, I misjudge the timing and suddenly I'm sitting at 71%? The math just doesn't add up. Considering I played this stupid music game at least a couple dozen times, I was never able to make heads or tails of the blatantly broken scoring system. Whatever. Doesn't matter. Thankfully, the accompanying music is halfway decent. Short, bouncy, and tolerable enough to listen to over and over, especially the techno tune which reminded me of something from an old Commodore 64 or Amiga game.

All that being said, I reiterate my original stand that Happy Party Pals is not a terrible game. There is some merit in there. However, it's all to be found in the mini-games. The core game is just...so...pointless. Even from the perspective of a pre-teen girl, I'd have a hard time imagining this game to be truly enjoyable on any level. But then, I found meager satisfaction in Gift Grab - a simple color match mini-game that feels like a mix between Puyo Pop and Candy Crush Saga. Additionally, I found some enjoyment in Bouncing Balloons, a simple Bust a Move style clone. Of course, all of the mini-games were clones or imitations in the simplest form and if I truly wanted to enjoy these games, then I'd just play the original games. However, these mini-games added a much needed boost of actual gameplay into a game that otherwise makes little coherent sense of the words "game" or "play."

But I have to give Happy Party Pals kudos for managing to keep my attention span long enough to finish the game; even if it was done in intermittent spurts over several months. Still, that's better than some honest to god games have managed to do - games like Morrowind that have been sitting on my unfinished list for what seems like years now. But then, maybe I just wanted to wipe anything Hello Kitty related from my list, ashamed for introducing it to my ledger of worthy titles to begin with. What ever was I thinking?

Truth be told, I'm sure I could run down a laundry list of issues with Happy Party Pals. But why bother? Outside of gamers with an unquenchable curiosity for the ludicrously stupid, like myself, I doubt anyone would ever willingly pick this game up and say to themselves, "Now here's a game worth playing." Only other sensible scenario would perhaps be some Hello Kitty zealot  in which case it doesn't matter what I think. Consider it fanboyism at its purest just like those with Zelda, Sonic, or any other top franchise that just can't do any wrong. In case you're wondering, they can. Perhaps if I had a further hankering for Hello Kitty entertainment, I'd find that Happy Party Pals totally delivered. I doubt it, but I understand what the game was attempting and I can envision the idea working quite well. Otherwise, I'm sorry Kitty, but even your darling, kawaii nature can't save you here.

Nano-Rant:

Can someone please explain why Kitty's subject to sanitation duty? To what end does garbage collection have anything to do with anything? I think there's far better ways to teach children that littering is frowned upon in the real world than by shoehorning some pointless mechanic into a video game.

But it makes the townspeople sad and Kitty's out to lift everyone's spirits.

No. Fuck all that. If roadside trash is such a weight on everyone's mind to the point that they walk around in a depressed stupor lest Kitty enliven their disposition through a bevy of gifts there's something seriously wrong. Kitty's generosity is being markedly abused as well as her eagerness to please by being the only one willing to lend a hand in community cleanup. She's just a fucking child, people! Clean up your own goddamn messes! No, wait. Better yet, quit cluttering the town with your filthy refuse and make use of the proper receptacle yourself. Quit relying on Kitty's good will to do everything for you. And you dare call her out on throwing a mediocre party? For shame, on all of you.

Maybe next time, Kitty should hock up a few hairballs and pass those out as gifts, you bunch of ungrateful sods.

Rating: 2 Stephen Hawking factoids out of 5

XB1 - Max: The Curse of Brotherhood

Haiku-Review:

disappearance act:
a task I'm quick to regret-
but I've a marker!

Additional Comments:

Yet another blessing from Games with Gold. And a blessing indeed as I quickly became enthralled with this quirky little platformer. Well, I use "quickly" in the loosest of terms as the game has sat idly by on my system for a couple of months as I continued to knock about in Forza Motorsports 5 or any other XBox One game that happened to grab my attention. From initial download, Max certainly seemed intriguing - I loved the artwork and the overall atmosphere of the levels from what I gleaned, but the whole drawing aspect appeared clunky and perhaps more of an uninvited guest sapping the overall energy from the game's platforming roots. And so Max sat, quietly in gaming limbo - just another game owned and maybe, just maybe, one day will be resplendent in the glory of play.

Unlike a large number of games in my collection, I had every intention to play Max from the very start. Despite my worries over potentially clumsy design, I was wowed by the straightforward emphasis on pure platforming. Days turned into weeks as I kept murmuring my wishes to start the game up once and for all, but then found my attention turned elsewhere - be it towards other games already in progress or other games that happened to catch my fancy all that much more. Look no further than the last few games pinned here on Beat All Games to find out what they were. Sorry, Max, but Guacamelee had me from the word go. Or should that be "¡Ve!"? Honestly, my Spanish is horrible, or rather, non-existent, so yea.

Finally, after lengthy bouts of procrastinating - and becoming frustrated with some of the Looker runs in Super Time Force - I decided to enter the strange fantasy that is Max: The Curse of Brotherhood. Instantly, addiction took over. I can't believe I put this game off for so long. Sure, the marker mechanics are somewhat clumsy upon initial play, but it's easy to get use to after a while - and incredibly necessary in the latter game, especially in Death by Lava. Surprisingly, after a number of early game deaths as I came to terms with how the environment properly functioned, my deaths dwindled in the end game; Death by Lava sending Max to an early grave only once. Color me shocked!

Thing is, Max isn't exactly a difficult game. I think most of the difficulty, if any, stems from the various environmental puzzles. But oddly, some of the more difficult, or what should have been more difficult puzzles, were easy to glean while some of the simpler puzzles flat out stumped me for a bit. I remember wracking by brain over one of the lantern bug puzzles only to feel stupid after realizing how simple the solution was - which interestingly enough, I didn't find the true solution until my 'no death' run. On my initial trials, I managed a half-assed solution that only lessened the present danger; thus having to book it as fast as my little legs could carry me. This, more than anything, made me play the part of the idiot when I found the true key to the puzzle.

Even the end boss proved enormously simple once I understood the mechanics, albeit I faced many deaths as I tried to understand what those mechanics were. To wit, I needlessly cycled through Mustacho's pound routine for minutes on end. My initial intuition was that Mustacho would cycle through his various states through his own volition. At least it seemed a sound theory based on past video game experiences. Again, foolishness got the better of me after realizing the earth pillars served a higher purpose - a higher purpose than what I was using them for: a means to evade Mustacho's Master Hand style slap. Of course, knowing the base mechanics of Max, it should have been clear that much like Max's trek through fantastic landscapes, here too, the marker plays an invaluable role. Oh, that's right! I should pay attention to the various marker hot spots to help deduce Mustacho's final puzzle. Why would I ever believe the final struggle would rely purely on physical battle tactics? I figured flicking countless fireballs at Mustacho's giant head would be more than enough to take down the elder demon inhabiting my dear little brother's skin. I can only guess that I learned nothing throughout my travels. That either doesn't bode well for the game or for me. I choose the latter because as I progressed through my no death runs, it became more and more obvious that Max's travels and the good witch's teaching were leading Max to a definitive strategy on destroying Mustacho and his plans to...to.... What were his plans again? To dominate this fantastical elsewhere with an iron fist? Eh, it's a bit of a wasteland, though I admit it has its own beauty and charm - the sheer definition of picturesque.

Picturesque beauty is certainly the highlight of the game. Its shallow to recommend a game based on graphics, as that should never be the main selling point, but for Max, I feel it's appropriate. The graphical beauty seems to be the building blocks of wonder here and the development team made a astonishing array of levels that not only look good, but play well. Attention is paid to both environmental atmosphere as well as play progression that is equally interesting, fun, and anxiety inducing. Oddly enough, tricky vine jumping and other platforming lunacy from unspeakable heights exacerbated the strong will to survive better than any other 2D platformer, which again can be attributed to the beauty and detail of the various environments. Rarely is this the case in any game, but somehow altitude felt to be a real and eminent threat. Often, height is just another means of quick death - passé really - but here the world evoked nervous fingers and sweaty palms. Father Oak was especially responsible for this feeling. Perhaps it can all be linked to my uncertainty I always felt when jumping onto a swinging vine, afraid that I was going to flick the stick incorrectly and leap to my doom despite knowing that such a feat was impossible thanks to vine mechanics. Even while finishing up the last of my no death runs and having played the game over the course of several days, my suspicions of the vines were never abated. Continual fear that if I held down, Max would slide down off the vine into blissful oblivion clenched my very soul. Ok, perhaps that's a little dramatic, but the essence of the situation sat uneasy with me as I nervously flicked the stick downward in quick little jabs, inching ever closer to the vegetative end.

Overall, I loved the game. My original worries over clumsy controls were quickly alleviated and it would be hard for me to argue any aspect of the game. Maybe length. That may be the one area of the game that disappointed me. The last few levels seem to have peaked at appropriate difficulty but then the game vanished before it had a chance to thoroughly explore some of the more sinister applications of Max's marker. When all was said and done, I was hoping for more. The game's length, or lack thereof, becomes especially apparent once you have full understanding of all the mechanics involved in the game and dash through the levels to either acquire any missed collectibles or obain no death status. But then, as I sit and think about average game length for any platformer, it's not that peculiar that Max feels so short. Most, if not all, platformers tend to run on the shorter side of the time spectrum. Speedruns can certainly attest to that. Then again, unlike the early Sonic or Mario games, I didn't finish Max in a single sitting, and while I see it being completely possible, I don't see it likely, at least for me - someone who tends to lengthen games via arbitrary exploration and needless noodling to ensure every nook and cranny has been exhausted. No wonder RPG's take me roughly twice the forecast amount of time to complete. Note to self: need to invest in more productive play style. Ugh.

Nano-Thought:

Why I am sensing an allusion to Onett in that opening scene? Or is it just me? Either way, kudos! I like it.

Rating: 4 plots achieved through puppetry out of 5

GB - The Smurfs

Haiku-Review:

they're three apples high,
but they're as big as a cat?
must be Hokuto's

Additional Comments:

I'm well aware of all Smurf related proportion discrepancies. Having been a fan of the wee blue creatures since I was myself a wee creature, I've had my fill of questioning Smurf perspective. But on a more interesting note, and a more relative note, the Smurfs hold a special place in my video game heart. The very first video games I ever played and cherished were from the storied Atari 2600, and among those treasured memories are games like Frogger, River Raid, Pac-Man, Combat, Asteroids, and Smurf: Rescue in Gargamel's Castle. Like the others mentioned, I remember loving Rescue in Gargamel's Castle and playing it endlessly. Sadly, it's the one 2600 title I've yet to replace. I vaguely recall trying it on a emulator a few years back, but it just wasn't the same. Without that stiff joystick feel, it's a mere fraction of the true Atari experience.

But that's all just an unrelated yarn in regards to the game in hand other than they both share the same roots: Smurfs. If only the Game Boy's take on the fungal-dwelling Smurfs carried the same joy as Rescue in Gargamel's Castle. Before I go any further, that one statement should speak volumes, but I'm going to say I'm erring on the side of nostalgia against The Smurfs for the Game Boy because nostalgia has a funny way of pulling at our heartstrings. Consider it a crux, I suppose.

The Smurfs is a simple platformer containing short, concise levels. Considering it's a Game Boy title, it's hard to condemn the narrow-minded approach of each level. Gimmicks are straightforward and focused, so much so that nearly nothing else exists within each level. Any other system, namely consoles, and I'd find the overall design lacking, but somehow it works here. The only time I was left wanting more would likely be The Cliff, but the gimmick itself is impressive for the Game Boy, so I can overlook its incredibly short stretch of real estate.

However, I would criticize some of the more claustrophobic moments on levels like The Old Gold Mine. There's a particular dip in the track about two-thirds of the way in where the cart and a falling boulder approach it at the same time but the ceiling is so low that it's damn near impossible to jump the boulder without getting hit. I think I only managed to get past that boulder once damage free out of a good twenty times or so. The Sarsaparilla Fields has its moments with those reflecting fuzzballs, though I'd pin that down to faulty collision tactics.

I hardly call that case for concern though as the levels are solid enough to shrug off some of the more devious slip-ups. I'd probably accredit the sheer variety of level builds to my upturned snootiness towards solid, but realistically sub-par design. It reminds me of a watered-down Little Nemo as far as general level construction is concerned, but then, a Game Boy version of anything is going to be a watered-down version of its former glory. So, why complain? But seriously, what will they throw at me next in Hefty's grand adventure? Whether rafting down a river, flying on the back of an old trustworthy stork, or shredding snow on a sledge - eh, sledges don't exactly invoke snow shredding capabilities -  The Smurfs certainly can't be disparaged for stale level design.

Levels aside, and the sad truth that of all the Smurfs to be rescued, Brainy has to be one of them - nobody likes Brainy, nobody - there is a sizable transgression enacted by two of the three bosses. All three bosses are decent ideas, in fact, I think Gargamel is rather clever - simple, but clever. Unfortunately, both the dragon and Gargamel are poorly designed in practice. There is absolutely zero room for error in either battle. Essentially, there is only one way to defeat each of these bosses and if you make even the slightest misstep, consider yourself smurfed. Even on Easy, I suffered numerous deaths on each of these bosses, though I think the dragon infuriated me more. Really, it's the stupid one tile wide platforms that are perfectly placed to cause the greatest level of annoyance that brings the dragon's battle to a grinding halt. But that's also a matter of Hefty's ambiguous jump physics. Am I really gaining x acceleration if I suddenly hit the B button mid jump or is my mind just playing tricks on me. I swear I accidentally overshot some jumps because of this weird momentum anomaly. The real question though: why do game's with iffy jump mechanics rely so heavily on one tile wide platforms? Somehow game designers decided that's the perfect marriage of fuck all to piss gamers off to no end. Bravo! But I'm off point. Funny enough, it wasn't until my playthrough on Hard where I finally understood the necessary jump pattern to defeat the dragon without succumbing to a dastardly placed flame. Likewise, I killed Gargamel on my first attempt on Hard while I failed continuously on the easier difficulties. What irony.

The sudden spike in difficulty from easy-peasy levels to unforgiving bosses is the true culprit preventing this game from being a noteworthy platformer from the old grey brick. Considering the simpleness of the levels though, gaming mediocrity is really all it hoped to ever achieve. It did manage to sneak a few catchy tunes in there such as The Swamps or The Flight of the Stork. Both of those tracks stir up thoughts of some of the more amazing Commodore 64 or Amstrad CPC music.

It's worth a try for Game Boy enthusiasts, I suppose, but nothing more. For fans of platformers, consider it a miss. And for fans of the Smurfs, well I still prefer Rescue in Gargamel's Castle even if I'm living under the pretense of nostalgia goggles. I'm sure others might share the same sentiment for this game over other Smurf games, and I'm sure most, if not all, would disagree with me regarding the old 2600 classic. Like I care.

Rating: 2.5 evil Smurfs out of 5*

*Wait. Who are these evil Smurfs? Did Gargamel mold more twisted decoys out of clay? I figured after the Smurfette failure, Gargamel would give up on that particular plan of attack.

4th & Inches

No, I'm not referring to the old football classic from the Commodore era. Instead I refer to four years of hootin' and hollerin' over games that infuriate me, engage me, or simply wow me. Whether people visit my little corner of the web or not is inconsequential to my affairs, but Beat All Games has helped push me to play some games I'd never think of playing - for better or worse. Otherwise, I'd probably be like so many other gamers out there and stick with what's comfotable, with whatever's fresh and popular, with whatever's on the most current systems. I'd still take nostalgic trips to my NES, SNES, Genesis, PlayStation, or what have you, but I'd likely return to the same titles that I grew up loving and nary venture into the unknown. Beat All Games has also helped me grow my collection as I continue to try and pick up games I've never heard of or caught wind of somewhere else on the net - enough to grab my attention and make me say, "I've got to get that game." So to the very existence of Beat All Games I say kudos.

This calls for a celebration and Beat All Games celebrates the only way it knows how: posting arbitrary lists for the sake of adding more useless lists out in internet land. But what's more, unlike last year, I've actually added a bevy - well, maybe not a bevy, but a fair amount - of games to my completion log. Perhaps fair amount is itself the definition of exaggeration, but for once my completion total has been on the upswing - a first since the beginning of this little experiment in gaming. Ta-da!

It's been a while since I've done a top/worst five, so perhaps I'll throw one of those up on the board. There's been a number of games since I last made such a list so there's a good chance my new list will no longer replicate my old list. In fact, I know it doesn't, although a few games from the old list still retain their positions. It's very likely a couple of those titles will stand the test of time in their current positions. First, I'll list my top five games taken down since the beginning of Beat All Games followed up by the worst five.

---

Top 5
5. XBox One - Guacamelee! Super Turbo Championship Edition
It managed to eek its way onto the list; not by merit, but by time. One of the tightest, most engaging nouveau platformers I've played.

4. Super Nintendo - The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past
One of those titles where I forget just how incredible it is as time passes. Then I play it and am simply blown away.

3. Nintendo Entertainment System - Super Mario Bros. 3
I admit nostalgia, but at the same time, I find it an absolute thrill every time I boot it up.

2. PC - VVVVVV
If less is more, it's no wonder this game is held in such high regard. It's a marvel of simplistic innovation taken to the extreme.

1. PlayStation 2 - Katamari Damacy
Rounding out simplicity, Katamari takes it a step further and wins with campy joyfulness and addicting gameplay - not to mention incredible music.

Bottom 5
5. Sega Master System - Sonic the Hedgehog 2
It saddens me that an early Sonic game could be this horribly designed. Not expecting 16-bit miracles, but considering the first game, what went wrong?

4. XBox - Fable: The Lost Chapters
I still believe this could have been a great game if it weren't for stupid developmental decisions and extraneous bullshit clogging the tubes.

3. Dreamcast - Shenmue
I've never been more baffled over general opinion regarding a game, except perhaps for Majora's Mask. Shenmue is an awful, boring, hollow affair.

2. Genesis - TechnoCop
Perhaps if the developers weren't so scatterbrained regarding TechnoCop's structure, something would be halfway functional - be it driving or platforming or...anything.

1. Nintendo Entertainment System - Where's Waldo?
I feel sorry for anyone who paid good money for this "game" back in the day. Total gaming garbage right here.

---

And before I go.... Up until now, with a few exceptions here and there, I've tried my best to follow franchises in order. While I'm still going to try and do that when and if I can, I've decided to be far less stringent moving forward. The upside of such a rule is I can better gauge implementations of certain mechanics and judge failings or improvements from title to title. An example, which affected my view on the game, was when I played Alex Kidd in the Enchanted Castle before playing Alex Kidd in Miracle World. Both games are great, but sadly I skewed my perception of Miracle World because I played the vastly superior Enchanted Castle first.

That being said, I've purposefully put off a number of games that I'm eager to play because I'm trying to track down a preceding title first or I have said title and I'm currently suffering through a bad gaming experience. The Smash Bros. series is a good example as I'm just not enjoying the N64 title whatsoever. I hate the controls, and...everything, I just hate everything about this game and I'm having a miserable time playing it, but I love both Melee and Brawl. Certain titles, for various reasons, I'll likely abide by sequential order as best I can whereas other titles - hey, it's fair game.

If anything, I have a sneaky suspicion my completion count will be positively affected by this as well since I know I've been holding wins back as I try to sneak in an earlier title - q.v. Baldur's Gate: Dark Alliance series.

And so, huzzah! Four years, and here's to hoping the upswing continues.

PS1 - Suikoden

Haiku-Review:

a hundred and eight;
is it really that many?
absurd to keep score

Additional Comments:

Suikoden has taught me a wise truth: gamers are idiots who will easily buy into hype. Make no mistake, I include myself in the lot. Based purely on the praises spread across the internet and the overzealous raving down at my local vintage game shop, I had to snatch up Suikoden while the window of opportunity presented itself before some other game hungry hound sniffed it out and bought it from under my nose. After all, Suikoden is considered a magnificent gem of an RPG that has somehow snuck under the radar ever since its release. Take my money, please. But alas, I'm one of those very idiots that shelled out likely far more money than I care to admit for this game because others said I should.

But why all the grumbling? Suikoden truly is a masterful work from seminal publisher, Konami. They decided to take the tried and true formula that has been beaten to death by Square and put their own spin on it. Unique features include a ridiculously large cast of characters, most of whom can be used as player characters; the ability to build your own home base, and mass combat, something that is severely lacking in games in general. Lacking in the sense that it's handled as actual mass combat as opposed to representations of armies in turn based combat in games such as Civilization, Advance Wars, or other strategy games. Reading through the manual before popping the disc in, the mass combat seemed iffy. The card system sounded derivative of cheesy RPG card games, but at least the idea as a whole sounded fresh. Seriously, what other RPG could claim a fully functional mass combat mechanic in which the player was directly involved. At least for me, none that I've played - that I'm aware of. Then again, with the vast number of games I've played, it could be possible I've seen such a mechanic somewhere. Eh, doubtful. Only game that comes to mind is North & South and that's just assumption based on pictures I've seen years ago.

Here's the thing. Each of these ideas were likely great ideas on paper but somehow fizzled into nothingness upon translation. For example, the enormous cast. There's a reason why so many RPG's stick with so few playable characters. Never mind the confusion trying to keep track of so many characters, when there's as many characters as there is here, approximately eighty I believe, it's easy to loose connection with even a single additional character. Each one becomes nothing more than a face in the crowd. This is especially true in Suikoden since there's really no sense of specialization. Sure, different characters have different stats - some builds resembling strongmen while others resemble intellectual magic users, but honestly, they all feel fairly comparable with each other. It's just one big army of Joe Sixpacks.

Additionally, the multitude of character choices pushes the gameplay towards grinding if you wish to mix up the war party as often as possible, or general ease of play as you stick with the same relative six characters throughout the entire game. Why would I dare swap out my powerhouses for some new chum who can't even swing a sword to save his life? Oh! Their levels are proportionally set to give them a fighting chance upon recruitment. Erm...nope. They're still pretty useless. At least with Suikoden's wacky experience system it's relatively easy to level everyone up as your main character faces well over a hundred battles climbing a mere three points a round. Ugh.

Feeling a lack of empathy towards any of these numskulls or suffering battle after battle in hopes to boost any extra lackey's experience in the off chance I choose to use a third or fourth stringer - I'm sure Sarah's ability to do the laundry out on the battlefield will come in handy - is the least of my concerns over the player roster. What really irks me is we're offered some eighty different characters to choose from yet time and time again, the game force feeds certain characters down our throat at every turn. Worse still, at least half the party is always dictated by the game's whims. Why are there so many characters when I can only choose a third of my party? In the beginning of the game, I get it: Pahn, Cleo, Gremio, and Viktor are always at my side. As the game progresses, however, it becomes more of a nuisance, especially since my apathy towards all of these faceless assholes leaves a sour taste in my mouth when it comes to each principle character's story arc.

I don't know if the story as a whole is weak or it's just my frustration with the character system, but I felt no sympathy for anyone and I could care less where their convictions lie. Wait. What was Flik's objective on this particular leg of the journey? Why am I having to suffer Viktor's glass cannon equivalence yet again? Glass cannon isn't even a worthy epithet. His skill level is so piss-poor that he misses 90% of the time, yet I'm forced to drag his useless corpse around with me everywhere I go because other than two minor, inconsequential parts of the game, I can't choose a worthy party from the vast assemblage of playable characters on offer. What a stupid, frustrating application of what could have been a great mechanic - well, a decent mechanic. It's still way too many characters no matter how you try to pitch it.

Regarding the home base, there's actually little to complain about. It's likely the one feature for which I would tout this game. I wish there could have been a little customization, at least other than placing a few minor antiques in the bath house, but as a whole, it accomplishes its goal illustrating the continual growth of the Liberation Army. I feel obligated to remark on yet more of my own idiocy at this point, though I'm confident I can place a good bit of blame on the game itself. I was unaware there was a second opening on the west end of the first floor until the very end of the game. Before facing off against Barbarossa, I embarked on a final whirlwind tour of the world to find the last few potential recruits as well as a window setting that I somehow missed early on. Only, I had no idea what the window settings were for, or the sound settings for that matter. I had a good idea what they were for, but couldn't for the life of me figure out how to use them. I was both dumbstruck and horrified at my own ineptitude to make sense of the visual clues that indeed there's a door leading to the outside world. For the longest time I was wondering where half my recruits scuttled off to. Stupidly, I assumed their absence was due to some sort of sprite or hardware limitation, although we're dealing with the PlayStation, so.... Seriously, I had to walk away from the game to collect myself after I realized that splotch of white was a doorway.

That just leaves the mass combat as far as Suikoden's innovations. Like I said, I expected a pretty cheesy system. It's not bad, and is better than I expected, but it feels shoehorned into the game as though it were an afterthought to help enhance...I don't know, the story? The scenarios play way too easily. Unless you're a moron, you can't lose. Worse yet, while permanent character death is possible during mass combat, you almost have to strive for such an outcome in order for it to occur. Overall, strategy is minimal at best. Again, much like they mucked up the entire player roster, they mucked up the mass combat mini game. Is there any real reason for it? I found myself using the same three or four sets of cards every mass combat scenario and winning with flying colors. It's just more gaming bewilderment. Why couldn't the cards be shuffled every battle? Something to force some actual planning, or that matter, play. I'm glad they tried and that the system is there, but sadly, it falls flat.

There is one other element that rubbed me the wrong way and I already briefly touched on it. Experience. The experience system in this game is flat out bonkers. I can't make heads or tails of it. It's a flat system of a thousand points, but with each new level, the points gained after battle are lessened to simulate typical experience charts that call for larger goals. In theory, that's fine, and for the most part it works. However, mixed parties - having both high and low level characters - show how ridiculous the system truly is. You can have a party with level 50+ characters and a character who's only level 10. Within three or four rounds, he's level 50+ as well, only a few points off the others while they each gained fifteen points tops; if they're lucky. There's some black magic math going on here. I can accept that these low level bums will skyrocket through the levels, but how are they within striking distance of these other hard working Joes who have been putting in overtime since the very beginning? It makes no sense. And thanks to this mathematical mystery, grinding becomes more of an awkward straying from the beaten path. Thankfully, grinding plays a relatively low key role, if any until a couple spots late in the game, namely Floating Fortress Shasarazade - I swear there's three official spellings of that monstrosity within the game's text.

It must be another case where I'm just missing the obvious. Or perhaps it's further proof that the generally praised need not apply in my house. Shenmue can play testament to that. In the beginning, I had high hopes for Suikoden. True, it was just more of the same, but there was enough to make it stand out ever so slightly. Add the three unique mechanics of impressive roster, ever-growing home base, and mass combat, and it's no wonder the game is celebrated. But it's riddled with shortcomings, confusing and/or poorly implemented mechanics, and is simply boring. The story, while attempting to be epic in nature, feels so elementary. I neither felt concern nor attachment towards character or story. Claims of depth were mere scams trying to cover up the fact that the game is so one-dimensional. But then, I suppose there's a light at the end of the tunnel. After all, the game kept my attention long enough to keep going. I'll be damned if I know what to attribute that to. Perhaps its own unique charm was enough to win me over for the time being. But it wasn't enough to make me a believer. Although, songs like Peaceful People (personal favorite which often found me diverting my goals; needlessly visiting Antei for the umpteenth time for some aural enjoyment) and Gorgeous Scarleticia made me a believer in the game's fantastic soundtrack. In fact, I could easily manufacture a laundry list of gorgeous tunes from the game's soundtrack.

Nano-Rant:

Ah! But  I'm yet to retire from throwing jeers at this game. While I've touched up on various infractions and miscues, I still haven't  nailed down the defining failing in the game's architecture. Choice, or I should say the lack thereof. But wait. There is choice. I see it nearly every time there's interaction between characters. Not right now Mathiu, I have other pressing matters. I said not right now. I understand you believe it's in our best interest to act, but I must see to other affairs while I have the chance and I'm not overridden on my personal character choice. Oh my god, Mathiu, shut the fuck up! This isn't choice; it's just a grand illusion to trick us into believing there's far more depth in the game than there really is. Konami doesn't want us to see that they gave us nothing more than a shallow, linear imitation of a game worthy of the name RPG. If my ability to choose the outcome of a given situation is moot because you're just going to hound me until I make the appropriate decision, remove the mechanic. It brings nothing to the table other than rash irritation. It gives the game an overall phony atmosphere and discredits the story on multiple occasions - perhaps not so much with my example or any of Mathiu's bids for strategy, but with many of the casual encounters throughout the world. What should be a tool to help enliven the backdrop of the game ends up making it feel far more mechanical than some of the earliest and most linear RPG's out there. Point is, don't take your players for fools. We can see through your thinly veiled tricks.

There's so much more I would have liked to discuss such as the seemingly unbalanced difficulty progression, yet another trivial monetary system - need I be surprised, or the odd death experience glitch, but I've hit the major talking points and that's enough for me. Besides, I've yammered on for far too long as it is. But there is one last thing I must question. Perhaps I can sneak it into my rating and no one will be the wiser. Wait. Am I pulling my own thinly veiled tricks? Oh no!

Rating: 2.5 binoculars out of 5*

*What is the point of this item, and why do I have to use the second controller to use it when there's so many free buttons on the first controller? Useless.

XB1 - Guacamelee! Super Turbo Championship Edition

Haiku-Review:

¡Ser un Luchador!
Bust Chozo(s) and venture on,
Mr. Bawkbagawk

Additional Comments:

What an incredible game! It's been some time since a game has been so frustratingly agonizing yet so gripping and entertaining to play. VVVVVV maybe? Even during the most nail-biting, hair-pulling moments of gaming pain, I couldn't find the will to put the controller down. I had to try again and again...and again...and again - so was the case especially in a few particular trials in El Infierno.

Again, thanks to Games with Gold, I could trial Guacamelee!, which if it weren't for Microsoft's free games program, I wouldn't have even bothered with this game. Between the box art, the name, and the allusion to Capcom's tendency to add ludicrous taglines meant to represent a newer, fancier version of essentially the same exact game - I don't care what anyone says, no matter how many Hyper Alpha Championship Turbo EX Remixes they tack on, Street Fighter II is Street Fighter II - I envisioned it to be just another fighting game, a genre of which I've never been a fan. Even after looking at a few snapshots showcasing some of the platforming elements, I wasn't exactly sold on the idea. I still suspected it to be nothing more than a fighter, but perhaps with some large arenas that incorporated platforming like construction - similar to some of the larger stages in the Super Smash Bros. series. Eh, I am a fan of the Smash Bros. series, and that was enough incentive to further investigate Guacamelee!'s true experience.

Coming off of Dust: An Elysian Tail, I was pleased to see another game that followed suit: Metroidvania level design with emphasis on brawler or fighting game style combos. I find it interesting that it should pique my interest despite my general dislike for both Metroidvania gameplay and combo insistence. After playing Dust and now having finished Guacamelee!, and thoroughly enjoying both, I have to admit, I don't take issue with Metroidvania design. I thought I did, but really it's the inference that all Metroidvania games are half-assed replicas of either the Metroid or Castlevania series, both of which I've never liked. It's only natural that my bias towards both of those franchises would carry over to any game that would dare carry a design style steeped in the aforementioned games. Yet, unlike the originators that lent their namesakes to the so-called style of free-roaming platforming, Guacamelee! is actually a thrill to play. I know to most if not all gamers this reeks of blasphemy, but you know what? It's my opinion and frankly, I don't give a damn what anyone else thinks.

While Dust introduced me to the gaming excitement to be had from this unique brawler/platformer mashup, Guacamelee! took the idea and ran with it. Not only does Guacamelee! focus on diabolical platforming requiring some serious finger legerdemain at times, but it utilizes a proper combo system that feels completely natural even with all the platforming chicanery mixed in. Using combos, throws, and other means of fighting strategy actually had purpose. On the whole, the fighting system never felt clunky, forced, or unnecessarily prioritized. It remained a perfect balance to the equally important platforming even as the game swayed from one end of the spectrum to the other either through closed arenas overflowing with a variety of skeletal builds to perilous autoscrolling deathtraps relying on quick reactions. This was best emphasized via El Infierno's numerous trials - equal parts fighting challenges and platforming challenges.

Coming from a gaming background where platforming has always reigned king, I found the platforming challenges for the most part, easy. Dodging the moving thorns for some reason got the better of me far more than it should have, especially considering I managed gold within two tries in Hard Mode. But the real kicker was the stupid chicken assist challenge. I hated that challenge. Surprisingly, it wasn't one of my more difficult challenges to accomplish, though still nasty, but I think it's the one that infuriated me the most. On the fighting side, I struggled with a number of challenges. It took me a good dozen or so times to properly memorize the patterns and best judge what moves should be used when for best effect. The no throws room proved to be my most difficult challenge. The room itself was fair and it was easy enough to make it through to the end without taking a hit to ensure I maximized my hit combo as much as possible, but I just couldn't muster the proper techniques to acquire 130 hits. Unlike all of the other rooms, where you were offered a margin of error, the no throws room offered no margin of error. In fact, without using some sneaky course of action, the room had a negative margin of error. If only gold required a 120 hit combo like the other two specialized fight rooms instead of the curiously amplified amount. I probably ran through that room a good 50 times or so before I started resorting to some really out of the box strategies. But after doing so, I think I managed somewhere in the vicinity of 150-160? Holy guacamole!

But that's part of the magic of Guacamelee!. Any other game, and I'd likely leave the room in frustration. It reminds me of a couple of the special challenges on VVVVVV. Despite my total adulation for the game, I just couldn't bring myself to playthrough the no death challenge for the nth time or other such nonsense. Currently, I'm struggling with exactly that in Limbo. But here, in Guacamelee!, the gameplay excited me, even after the 50th time attempting the no throws room and escaping with a mere 129 hit combo on a damage free run. What the hell am I missing? Yes, there was some controller rage, but the game had me by its claws. No matter how frustrating, I tasted victory; knew I could best it, and enjoyed every single second of it.

Guacamelee! refuses to let up. It's out to challenge the player tooth and nail. Normal Mode's not exactly a walk in the park, but my god, Hard Mode really pushes the boundaries on some of the closed arenas. I could no longer half-ass my fighting expertise. It was time to get serious on precise combo usage and the dexterity required by some of the platforming areas definitely helped in that regard. Speaking of platforming dexterity, the top of the Tule Tree may very well take top honors for high agility demands. In a way, I was saddened I picked up my first sphere care of the Tule Tree as I expected the other entrances to Chac Mool to be all the more difficult, if not at least equal in sheer gaming frustration. I suppose I can at least commend the variety of trials meant to be overcome, but goddamn, Tule Tree's ordeal is exactly that: an ordeal.

The platforming is what really makes this game shine though. Sure, some of the platforming elements are basic or even nonexistent at times, but overall, it's challenging and makes terrific use of all your skills as hand. Now, I'm well aware the game, much like Dust alludes to its spiritual hero, Castlevania, time and time again, alludes to its own spiritual hero, Metroid - right down to acquiring new powers from old Chozo statues. Funny, I don't recall the Chozo ever being a part of Mesoamerican folklore. Must of missed that one. Then again, I was unfamiliar with Chac Mool's real life sculpture counterpart - at least by name - so I suppose it's only possible Metroid has its roots in ancient Olmec tradition. Anyway, back on point, what impresses most me about the platforming is how well it integrates every possible ability at any given moment. In a way, it reminds me of The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, in that it never takes a single ability for granted. Everything has a purpose and the game sees to it that each ability is put to use seamlessly. Not only that, much like the fighting, the addition of each ability progresses comfortably enough so that the player never feels overwhelmed. On occasion, I found myself fumbling with controls, but it was more out of sudden lapse of concentration or attempting to overcome an obstacle in a way counter to its intended solution. I'm sure some may question why I'd even do that to begin with, but it typically happened out of exploration on my quest to 100% each area.

If there's anything I'd consider a fault, it'd probably be the default audio mix. But with the option to set the audio to your liking, it's a moot point. Still, why does the default setting have the sound effects so deafeningly loud compared to the background music? While I could hear short musical interludes fade in and out every now and then, it does make me wonder if there was much of a soundtrack at all. Often times, the sound effects were so loud that I had the TV set to low volume and as a result couldn't hear much as far as background ambience. Hmm, perhaps I should have taken advantage of those audio settings. Interesting useless fact about me: I try and fiddle with optional settings as little as possible in pretty much any game I play. Don't know why - just an odd little quirk of mine. Seems to have soured my overall listening experience with Guacamelee! though.

Unfortunately, I've never played the original Guacamelee! or even Guacamelee! Gold Edition, so I don't have first hand knowledge of what sort of updates are brought to the table. For all I know, DrinkBox followed Capcom's lead and pointlessly affixed additional hyped-up taglines into tricking consumers that Super Turbo Championship Edition is a whole new game. Although, from what little I've read online, it's not a whole new game, but did overhaul story, bosses, optional elements and the like. So whether it's an improvement or not, I cannot say, but honestly, I don't care because this game brought it as is. Perhaps one day I'll have a chance to play the original version and either feel disenchanted with it or perhaps unnecessary "fixes" performed by STCE, but somehow, I doubt it either way. Based on my experience with this game, all I can say is DrinkBox knows what the hell they're doing and I look forward to seeing more work from them. Additionally, while I thank Games with Gold for allowing me a free chance to play this game, looking back on it and seeing how much fun it exuded, I would have gladly paid for the game.

Rating: 5 DerpDerps out of 5

Flash - Hood Episode 1

Haiku-Review:

quick game recipe:
one part rabbit, one part witch;
drunks and foul language

Additional Comments:

Flash games have never been my cup of tea, as it's rare to find a fully fleshed game that has inherent play value. As such, my experiences with Flash games are few and far between, usually trying out bizarre titles recommended by friends for a mere 30 seconds and walking away colored unimpressed. Even those Flash titles I've decided to slog through for the sake of this blog, while unique and beholden of a certain charm, be it Super Press Space to Win's ironic spin on simplicity or Don't Shit Your Pant's reliance on crude humor and stupidity, rarely hold a candle to "true" gaming experiences. But then there's often brilliance mired among all the mediocrity such as VVVVVV which started its life in the Flash medium. To this day, it's still one of my all-time favorite games and to think it came from such humble roots. For this reason, I'd say it's worth perusing the usual Flash choke holds such as Kongregate or Newgrounds; only the chance of finding that one game worthy of play among all the undesirables is slim to none. Of course, there's more than enough routes to lead you towards the well praised: rating systems, reviews etc., but I rarely ever buy into any of that hogwash as my particular tastes never quite coincide with mainstream thinking - Shenmue being a prime example. Apart from a few friendly recommendations, I tend to leave my Flash experiences to fate - serendipitous finds sparked by certain qualities that catch my eye while casually rummaging through the web with zero intention of seeking out the next great game to marvel over.

I came across Hood after scouring the depths of YouTube listening to obscure video game tracks. Eventually, I came across Hood's Music Box Waltz which instantly grabbed my attention with its macabre, almost lullaby like ambiance. This one tune intrigued me enough to seek out from whence it came - a serial point and click Flash game spread out over several episodes.

Ooh...the whole episodes structure fettered my interest in the game immediately. I've never been big on singular stories broken down into what can rightfully be considered half a game, or even less in this case. Breaking a game into episodes feels like nothing more than a cheap marketing tool. It artificially accentuates story by promoting unnatural suspense. In Hood's case, this seems unnecessary since it appears it may have a story that can stand on its own merits. My belief in this is somewhat biased by the point and click genre in general since story usually plays a major role compared to other games types. Why the need to further inflate it? In contrast, emphasis on gameplay feels slightly diminished as pacing is broken. It becomes somewhat of an afterthought as game immersion loses out to a mechanic devised solely to drive curious readers. In that respect, the game takes on more of a visual novel approach, though it's not readily apparent until you reach the ending.

Based on the existence of this commentary, it's obvious my initial interest was enough to warrant a playthrough despite any reservations I may have had. What little story there is so far is indeed enthralling, but upon reaching the episode's end, everything becomes unraveled. Up until that point, I found the game enjoyable. The play itself is by no means amazing. In fact, it feels rather lackluster for point and click standards, but everything that framed it compelled me enough to push forward. The gameplay was merely a means to an end as I strove to learn more about the strange mythos of Hood and the sorrowful fate of the girl. All the while, I found myself thoroughly captivated by the ominous mood enriching the game world which was cleverly aided by a welcomed film reel presentation utilizing cue marks at set intervals. However, come the end of the episode, it was all for naught. Never have I felt so dejected.

Relying on suspense to reel the player in; wanting more, Hood attempts to make the episode format work by pushing even the tiniest grains of tension into off-putting cliffhangers. Except, the end of Episode 1 is barely worthy of the charge. The episode's end felt so unnatural - so out of left field. I'll concede that the developer succeeded in the sense that he left us wanting more - the episode's minimal length can attest to that, but I won't concede that he left me wanting more. The ending blindsided me, leaving me so aghast that any and all investment in the game took a sudden nosedive. In my opinion, the episode structure backfires because the episode is too short. Never mind the minimal gameplay, which I'll get to in a moment, but I was presented with barely enough material to tide my interest. There was enough material to slowly mold an unusual folklore, but not enough to warrant a 'to be continued' without thinking its all gone to waste. I found myself apathetic towards what may lay ahead for the hunter and the girl because I wasn't given enough time to immerse myself into the story proper and/or care about their endeavors.

Granted, Hood is a Flash title, and limited game time can and should be expected, so it seems wrong to harp on that. However, after finishing the episode, my reflection on the game was akin to that of Shenmue's first disc. What exactly did I accomplish? I sobered up some idiot weather mage. That's it! That alone makes we leery of continuing on with the series. Is each episode going to consist of nothing more than a single, solitary task? Ok, there's more to the episode than just sobering up some inebriated buffoon, but if I were to outline the major talking points, it doesn't really feel like it.

If all of Hood's episodes could be played as a singular game, I'd likely be fussing over stupid, meaningless flaws. I could continue on my merry way, enjoying the game properly. Allowing for a more natural flow for both the story and gameplay would likely mask some of the failings that are much more apparent when the game is broken down into short ten to fifteen minute segments. And most importantly, I wouldn't feel swindled by interacting with next to nothing despite fancying itself an opening story arc. Somehow, I felt as though I accomplished less than I did in Myst and there's literally nothing going on in that game. But alas, it's all wishful thinking and instead, the developer offered me an out a mere ten minutes in.

Failings may be too strong a word, as the gameplay, while lacking compared to other point and click titles, is intuitive enough to keep the player from pulling their hair out over stupid item puzzles. There are a couple moments where I think the background could have benefited from a few minor graphical tweaks in regards to item finds, but otherwise, the "puzzles" were fairly straightforward and equally polished. I'd like to have seen better use made of the inventory, but perhaps that's down to the episode itself. It may even be possible I overlooked something, though I'm certain I clicked every possible graphical representation boasted within the game in every possible combination. I'm disheartened I couldn't finagle the locked door with the knife, but again, product of the episode's parameters or simply overlooking something.

I can't help but feel that I'm unfairly criticizing Hood because of my own preoccupations with some asinine storytelling device superseding the overall experience. But the developer made a choice to present the game in episodes. Whether that was a conscious choice or one made out of necessity thanks to Flash, it completely ruined the game for me. Only because he succeeded so well in mood, I'm willing to move forward with the series, or at least convince myself of this belief. Then again, I feel so apathetic towards the story after such an underwhelming attempt to bait my continued interest and such disdain towards the game's now seemingly jerky progression I feel I can only feign that interest to forge ahead for so long. I just don't see the point. As long as every episode is an ineffectual little tease like the first, I can only feel indifference towards it all. I'm well aware that the game's been out for a while and as such, four episodes are currently playable if I'm not mistaken. Is that all the episodes? That same indifference prevents me from willingly researching the facts. It would be as easy as a few quick mouse clicks to call up the next episode, but...well, my ramblings have circled and the point is made.

Perhaps... Perhaps I'll give the second one a go; to at least see if there's any improvement. Ah! But perhaps that was his plan all along. A crafty one, he is.

Rating: 2 disgustingly comfy chairs out of 5

SNES - The 7th Annual 'Vanilla' Level Design Contest

Haiku-Review:

again: adventure...
through individualized
interpretations

Additional Comments:

Unlike most of my commentaries, I have a sneaky suspicion this one may fall on the short end of the spectrum. Why, you may ask? Well, this game, er...hack of Super Mario World is more a collection of 80-some odd levels designed by 80-some odd individuals for the purpose to be judged in an annual contest held on SMWC. Ah! But there's a unique difference between this contest, and the six that proceeded it; that difference also being the reason why my first and only entry in the Vanilla Level Design Contest series is lucky number seven. SMWC's 7th Annual Vanilla Level Design Contest was proposed as a contest in which the entries can be combined together to create a single collaborative hack - or perhaps compilation hack is a better term. For the first time, instead of fishing through a sea of .ips files and patching countless .smc's, every single entry can be played as a single ROM under the guise of a completed game.

Still, it seems to be a rather silly entry for Beat All Games, but then again, the credo for Beat All Games is to beat all games, and it's hard to deny this particular title's credibility as a game. But unlike every contest in the past, I had a keen interest in playing this hack. For one, I enjoy collaboration hacks, especially more of the compilation style hacks such as the VIPs where there is a wide selection of level design philosophies present: from the brilliant, interesting, and out of the box ideas, to the horrible, boring, and dickish. Everything imaginable, but more so, the unthinkable, has the potential of making an appearance. And for me, that's the joy. It's like taking a ride on the wild side; playing rebel to all of the conventional gaming ideologies.

But there's more to my own VLDC playthrough wishes. For the first time, levels offered by a number of SMWC's esteemed designers could be found on a single ROM. In some respects, the hack could be treated as a sampling of a fair cross-section of competent level designers within the SMWC community without having to play an equivalent number of hacks. Not to say that's a bad thing, but I don't exactly have the desire to play nothing but SMW hacks. Been there, done that.

And finally, perhaps for a more sinister, albeit personal, reason, I can enjoy a game in which I had a tiny hand in helping create by being a designer of one of the 82 (not counting Switch Palaces) levels. Consider it thinly veiled self promotion. Eh, call it opaquely coated, as I'll purposefully neglect to mention which level is mine - we'll say for intrigue's sake.

To comment on the game though is difficult as best. It's a fabulously put together hack, and despite the game being completely open from the beginning, feels like a cohesive product. For obvious reasons, the difficulty scaling is absurd, but that can be and should be overlooked. Otherwise, the game comes together nicely, as though it truly is a grand adventure through some mysterious land that would easily ring familiar with our audacious hero, Mario. Be it an inviting forest, a mystical desert, or a perilous climb into the sky, there's more than enough of the usual fare to keep the more absurd level ideas grounded without discouraging the player. Yet, there's just enough levels seeded in madness to keep the player on their toes - from a cave that's inside-out to an epileptic's worst nightmare.

Depicting a long list of arbitrary levels thrown together in a hodgepodge of organized chaos seems hardly a case to call this a proper game though. But then you have the icing on the cake: a beautifully designed overworld and a fantastic soundtrack consisting largely of remixes on original Super Mario World themes created especially for the hack by some of SMWC's top composers. A couple favorites include the Here We Go! (Abstract Remix) (it's so non-Mario-esque, yet carries enough of the original melody to alleviate any fears that the game's deviated too much from the norm) and the Athletic Remix (somehow, this version conveys the intention of the original song better than the original song). Meanwhile, original compositions such as the Mountain Map and the Worst Map (believe it or not, I find this to be the best piece in the game as it accomplishes its desired mood perfectly) bring the game to further astonishing heights. It's wonderful details like this that helps blur the line between design potpourri and conscientious work, yet still maintaining its roots as a platform for showcasing entries intended solely for a contest. If it weren't for a few of those one levels and an open world, you'd swear the hack fulfilled aspirations originally intended from the very beginning as a proper Mario adventure. Then again, in a way, it did exactly that.

Rating: 4 unscrupulous number jokes out of 5*

*Hmm...another SMW hack with yet another pointless marijuana reference. Should I be surprised? I don't know. I'd think a simple 404 or BRK equivalent would be more appropriate. Though BRK's hex of 00 would be lost on all but the very few. Fuck it! Sex and drugs? Why not?

CPC - Sorcery

Haiku-Review:

a labyrinth of doors:
should I use a key? No, Wait!
I'll use a bottle

Additional Comments:

And now for something completely different.

Different indeed! While toying around with various Intellivision emulators in my attempt to finish up Advanced Dungeons & Dragons since my actual Intellivision and TV don't care to communicate, I found myself looking through some of the more obscure emulators I've managed to collect over the years. I had gotten a hold of a couple emulators for the Amstrad CPC computer system and have been eager to try some games out but I've never had luck getting any of them to work. Much like the games offered on the Commodore 64, I was both mesmerized by the primitive graphics and the incredible soundtracks that graced any number of CPC games as seen in a variety of YouTube videos I perused out of curiosity.

Sorcery just so happened to be a game I picked out of pure happenstance to test out some CPC emulators. Turns out, after poking around on the net for information on the game, that its highly praised by fans of CPC gaming. Lucky pick, I suppose. Perhaps I should take up the lottery. The copy I found had a few POKEs, essentially cheats for us console laymen, pre-installed. Not knowing what the questions were in reference to, since they were in either Spanish or Portuguese - it escapes me at the moment - I randomly hit yes or no. Though, truth be told, I feel a bit silly admitting as such since I realized after the fact, and once I got a few minutes of gameplay under my belt, that the questions weren't all that difficult to translate. This is, of course, flagrantly disregarding any use of Google Translate I could have taken advantage of should it be of such concern.

While simple enough, Sorcery is a confusing blend of puzzles and level navigation. Haphazardly turning certain POKEs on only makes matters worse. The true purpose of well over half the items escaped me while I finagled my way past creepy denizens with unintended invincibility. Only the vast array of locked doors and hatches curbed my magical adventure. The thing is, I wasn't exactly aware that I had cheats set up, which only intensified my confusion over what I saw on screen. The idea of integrated POKEs was completely foreign to me and I never imagined I had the ability to turn on full cheats at the drop of a hat. But after some further research and full translation of the POKEs menu, I finally had a grip on reality - or at least the reality of what Sorcery's all about.

A few weeks later and armed with a better understanding of its mechanics, I stepped back into the CPC arena. POKEs eliminated, I plunged ahead looking forward to experiencing the game for what it really is. After all, though my initial foray was mired in epic confusion, I enjoyed my miniature adventure piloting the lone sorcerer around a magical kingdom filled with strange retro computer wonders. I saw hope in this game and had every desire to return for a full playthrough. And though I may be ignorant or inexperienced in the ways of computer gaming from yesteryear - or any year for that matter - I could see why Sorcery was held in high regard. Despite its primitiveness, the game immediately grabbed me as a fun, yet quirky, little puzzle platformer.

But alas, even with my newfound knowledge, Sorcery is a bewildering door maze that calls for run after hopeless run of trial and error. Other than a couple obvious clues, it's a total crapshoot as far as how and where a majority of the items are used. So, it wasn't just the unbeknownst cheats that affected this convoluted labyrinth of doors and keys. Do I use a key or a bottle? Ok, keys are for doors and bottles are for hatches. No, wait. Keys are for hatches and bottles are for doors? No. Sometimes keys are for both doors and hatches, but so are bottles? What the fuck is going on!? After multiple, and I mean multiple, attempts, I still don't know what locked apertures use keys and which use bottles. Who the heck opens a door with a bottle anyway?

Honestly, I expected to suffer through numerous runs as I slowly learned what magical items were required to unlock my imprisoned wizard brethren, but the whole keys/bottles ordeal actually proved to be my bane. Unlocking the wizards, though suffering from umpteen runs of trial and error in and of itself, were at least easy to eventually memorize. Ah! I use the chalice in the chateau, the goblet in the wastelands, and so on. But I'll be damned if I can memorize all of those mundane portals spread throughout the lands. Sheesh. I found myself wasting an incalculable amount of time traversing the kingdom in search for keys or bottles because apparently my initial intuition was wrong.

Confusion aside, Sorcery is still a brilliant game. And let's be honest: modern gaming has spoiled us with unnecessary hand holding to the point where we expect the answer to be as plain as day. It's difficult to look at a lot of these old games with the required detachment from modern philosophies. While toying around with CPC emulators as well as a few other old computer emus, I stumbled across a copy of Zork, one of the very first computer games I remember playing that wasn't Oregon Trail or Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? The old text adventures are a perfect example of the old school philosophy of throwing you out to the wolves. Can you survive? Here's a hint book that contains literally no hints - good luck! Sorcery raises the same old school gaming survivalist tactics that we all once loved and accepted but now abhor and punish with slanderous commentary. Yikes! That's me! Damn you, modern gaming industry!

But I find it wrong to disparage Sorcery for its required investigative workload. After all, that's what the entire game is built around. I just wish I had confidence in my key ring. Hate to be a jailer in that kingdom. I'd have to lug around a crate of bottles, shields, and a fleur de lys. Try hanging all of that around your belt loop. No wonder the player can only haul around a single object at any given time.

There is one minor detail that agitated me on each and every attempt - besides the whole key/bottle debacle. I'm well aware that every rescued sorcerer stands waiting within the final room, but I really wish they had placed a counter somewhere on the HUD showing either how many compatriots have been rescued or remain imprisoned. Along with wasting precious book eating moments finding the appropriate device to unlock a door, I often found myself wasting time running back and forth between the Sanctuary and some obscure corner of the kingdom because I realized I miscounted how many prison breaks I successfully orchestrated until it was too late. The final words of the great tome of life would crumble away and I'd find myself wallowing in my own failings.

It may be short and simple, but Sorcery requires a good deal of memorization - be it the required unlocking devices at any given moment, how many fellow wizards I've freed, or whether or not I've unlocked that one trap door before venturing out to the great stone henge. Yep, memorization...memorization and a steady hand to ensure our magical hero doesn't drown in the icy depths of every lake in the kingdom. Boy howdy, did some of those lakes ever infuriate me. Keep hovering, you stupid magical twat. Is it really that difficult? Apparently for me, yes, it is.

Nevertheless, I loved Sorcery, and I've read the sequel only improved the already great gameplay. Sorcery also introduced me to the wonderful world of Amstrad, and I'm looking forward to unearthing other marvels penned for such archaic machinery. And since I'm on the subject, I know I've always ragged on or belittled PC games in general, but I do have a warm appreciation for the various old dinosaurs. In some respects, I think I have my old Apple II to thank for that. A bit depressing to think what may have come of it - scrap most likely. But with gems like Sorcery, I'm all the more eager to try out some of the old, forgotten games little known by those of us who were steeped in console gaming.

Rating: 4 sorcerers with mundane, workaday names out of 5