The Clockwork Bard

Tinkering with the Cogs of Gaming

Category : Video Game Review

Been too long since the last post again.  Haven’t really had time for a proper post, so I dug into the draft bin to see what I could see.  This was to be the second article for Clockwork Bard, but got scrapped at the finish-line for reasons I’ve since forgotten.  With the Turtles seeing yet another rebirth a few weeks back, I thought I’d toss it up.  Enjoy.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - Fall of the Foot Clan

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Fall of the Foot Clan (hereby known as FotFC, because that title is a mouth full) is a guilty pleasure of mine.  Please don’t confuse that with an endorsement of quality.  There are far better games you could be playing.  But it meant something to me as a child, something deeper than the TMNT branding that I so voraciously consumed.

 

Background

FotFC was the first of three GameBoy games in the franchise.  It was released in 1990 by Konami (under their Ultra Games brand), immediately following the first Nintendo Entertainment System’s TMNT title, the extremely popular Konami arcade beat ‘em up, and the first Turtles movie.  Turtle fever was in its prime.  It was a good year for Turtle lovers.

It’s a rather simple action platformer/brawler in which the player takes control of one of the four titular turtles as they trek across 5 enemy-filled stages in their quest to defeat the evil Shredder and Krang and save their friend April O’Neil.  Yes, it’s the rubber-stamped plot of every TMNT adventure ever, and we expected no less.  Turtle Power!

Presentation

Streets of New York

The streets of New York look great with gritty detail and parallax scrolling.

All three of the TMNT GameBoy releases had strikingly different visual styles.  The second took strongly after the cartoon.  Though it had its own look, to a degree, the goofy aesthetic was distinctively Saturday Morning.  The third game kept to the grittier look of the comic books.  The first took its cue from… well, everything.  The TMNT brand around the time this was in development was still in a bit of an identity crisis, as perhaps can best be seen in the toy line.  The original series of toys took their inspiration entirely from the Mirage comic books, with darker themes and a high level of quirky detail.  The second series, called “Wacky Action” figures, attempted to cater more to the cartoon audience, using a simpler, more vibrant and animated look.  The look didn’t quite match either source, and was dropped in favor of returning to the comic look.

Why am I rambling on about toys in a video game review?  Well, this was an awkward period for the mutant teenagers, as they made the very jolting transition from violent and surreal comic to the tame, mainstream, children’s cartoon.  The cartoon and comic both had well established styles starkly different from each other.  Yet much of the Turtle media that followed felt obligated to derive from both sources, both in look and narrative.  The movies, the reboot cartoons and many video games all feel like alchemical experiments, trying to hit a sweet spot by mixing aspects of those two base ingredients.  But where as these are smooth blends of traits mixed to create something new, FotFC feels more like a heterogeneous mishmash of elements lacking a coherent theme to bring them together.

The characters here are larger and more detailed than the later games (and most GameBoy games in general) but lack the stylized charm of either.  The turtle’s faces and deformed weapons look more like the doodles from my elementary school notebook.  Some characters seem to come from the first series toys, others from the second and a few show a strong Saturday morning cartoon influence.  For example, the mouser robots look more like their wobbly, wind-up toy variant from the Wacky Action figures than the crouched, intimidating, raptor-like predators they are better known for being.

Evolution of the Mouser

Here we can see the heavy influence of the wind-up toy on the FotFC Mouser.  The size, posture and proportions match that of the toy, while the coloration matches the style used by the Saturday morning cartoon.  The resulting creation simply lacks the appeal of those little metal munchers we knew and loved.

Showdown with the Shredder

The barren cave is a less than impressive backdrop to face down with the infamous Shredder.

The stages aesthetics tend towards the dystopian feel of the comics.  Each of the 5 levels brings something different, some even having multiple segments with different looks and feels to them.  Not all are the same quality, however.  The mountain cave, for example, is especially dull, with little to no defining features or terrain.  The streets and sewers of the first stage, however, look absolutely stunning, with parallax scrolling effects and a gritty detail that impresses but doesn’t intrude.  At first, the Technodrome successfully captures that alien look of organically-grown technology you would expect, but then switches to a mostly barren hall almost devoid of detail for the second half of the stage.

Between each of the levels are cutscenes, which simply pull stills straight out of the first few episodes of the animated cartoon.  These look great, but don’t fit most of the other material in the game.  They also sport some hilariously cheesy snippets of dialog.

All in all, the quality of the visuals on show here are well above average.  It’s the inconsistencies in both quality and theme that hurts the total package.  A more unified aesthetic and quality could have explored some of that lost potential.

Saving April

“We are here to save April?” Silly Mikey, that IS April!

The audio brings it together much better.  The music tracks are catchy, energetic and feel like they fit the environments and action.  The old factory and sewer themes are appropriately slow and eerie, without losing their drive.  The third stage ramps up the tension and pace as you jump between moving trucks on the highway.  The recognizable intro theme to the TMNT cartoon is used multiple times, but kept spaced apart by other tracks to both emphasize it and keep it from overstaying its welcome.

Highway Stage

The Highway Stage has pulse pounding tunes.

The sound effects are also appropriately more than just bleeps and bloops.  Clangs, crashes, swooshes and explosions add character to the comic/cartoon feel of the actions taking place.  Sound cues are well placed.  Many hazards announce themselves before attacking, such as some enemy projectiles or the rev of a motorcycle engine just before a group of foot soldiers try to run you down.  An obvious chime announces when a strike knocks your turtle low on health, but does not keep chirping annoyingly.  Konami has always been known for their very high quality audio work, and that dedication makes this a better game for it.

Interaction

The controls in FotFC are extremely simple but solid.  You can walk side to side, jump, and attack.  Attacks consist of jump kicks in air, strikes with your weapon when standing or walking, and a throwing star while crouching.  Everything is responsive and open to input and all three moves have their advantages.  Throwing stars are great for defeating those clusters of tiny enemies from a distance, before they can close in, but take multiple hits to take down stronger foes and bounce harmlessly off of stage end boss enemies.  Your weapon attack is versatile and quick, and even allows you to turn around mid-swing, taking out enemies on either side of you in one stroke.  Jump kicks take slightly more care to connect, but effectively eliminate airborne threats as well as decimate the few enemies which take two weapon strikes to kill in a single blow.

Technodrome Part 1

Roadkill Rodney takes two hits with your weapon or one with a jump kick.

I have to make a quick head-nod to usability here.  While the throwing stars are normally less powerful than your other assaults, if you use them at close range, they strike with the force of your normal, standing weapon strike.  This means, if an enemy was close enough that you could have used your weapon, but had to duck to avoid something flying at your skull, you aren’t penalized for using the weaker throwing stars.  I absolutely love little accessibility concessions like these.

The trouble you’ll hear from a lot of reviews has to do with the pace at which your character walks.  The turtles move at what I can best describe as a brisk stroll, a leisurely jaunt or a lively saunter.  Their attacks are not lacking urgency, but walking and jumping have a lazy float about them that shows no immediate need to be anywhere anytime soon.  This doesn’t hamper core game play, except maybe during boss fights.  The excessive hang-time on jumping actually works well for placing jump kicks and evading threats.  The plodding pace fits the desired effect for which the mechanics seem to aim.  But, I’ll get to all of that more in just a bit.  For the moment, it’s worth simply accepting those critiques on their original merit.  Your turtle’s stolid gait is not exactly pulse-pounding feedback.  We do expect reactions with a bit more passion for our button presses in modern action gaming.  Even the twirl of the turtles’ weapons as they promenade, while nice visual touches, give an atmosphere of apathy.

Your life bar and score are placed in a thin strip along the bottom of the play area.  Given what a premium screen space goes for in this zoomed perspective, their conservative size is appreciated.  The life bar, which is the more important of the two status updates, takes the majority of the space with 8 large boxes, each representing a discrete hit the turtle can take before failing and being captured.  In platforming games like this, I typically prefer this sort of information on the bottom like this, since the player’s character spends the majority of their time down near the ground.  It’s less important for things like score and stage number, which don’t need periodic referencing.  In the case of my character’s health, which is the defining meter of success and failure, I prefer to not need to draw my eyes from the play area to check up on it.

Player Narrative

This game follows an action game formula that was far more common in early computer gaming.  While an attempt to pidgeon-hole FotFC would set it loosely in the “Action Beat ‘em up” category, it doesn’t share the play conventions we typically associate in that area.  Typical beat ‘em ups place importance on careful positioning of your character while you strategically bob in and out of range of attacks by fairly durable enemies.  FotFC is much more about quick reactions to encounters that, for the most part, come to you.  As you progress, enemies and obstacles quickly leap on screen, calling upon your reflexes to either destroy or evade the threat.  While terrain changes to mix up these encounters and keep them interesting, terrain hazards are rare.  This mutes the platforming aspect of the game.  If there are encounters which require leaping, it is because something like a spiked column or boulder suddenly flew on screen.  Perhaps the best comparison I can give to a popular title is that of Kung-Fu (1985) for the NES.

For this sort of design, that plodding pace I talked about earlier is particularly common.  Evasion isn’t meant to be the immediate answer to any threat.  Rather, you need to decide within a moment’s time whether you need to strike at the threat or move.  In some levels, you might find that progressing too quickly puts more on the screen than you can handle.  The motorcycles in the third part of stage one must be jumped with careful timing.  There is little room for error. If other enemies are still roaming the ground, you may corner yourself into taking a few unavoidable hits.

This changes up when it comes time for boss fights, since bosses are not so easily dispatched.  Around six or seven hits are needed to put one down.  Since they get a brief invulnerability period after each hit, the same as you, a rapid assault will not be very effective.  In these fights, placement means everything, as your stiff joints simply cannot react fast enough.  For example, Shredder will decimate you in a frontal assault.  His sword can kill you in 4 hits and has better reach than your attacks.  Getting in, striking, and getting out is possible; but will more likely get you shredded.  Instead, leaping over and striking from behind is far more effective.  Other bosses are significantly easier, and most can be defeated without even moving, should you find the right spot.  The end fight with Krang is even kind of disappointing this way.  You could potentially wait at the left side of the screen and simply attack him whenever he wanders near for an easy win.

Unfortunately for the mean green fighting machines, this plodding style of action game was already on its way out, even in 1990.  Games were becoming more complex and hardware was becoming more capable.  The Sega Genesis/Mega Drive was out and only a year from releasing Sonic the Hedgehog, along with the “blast processing” craze.  The NES was in the sweet spot of its lifespan, with games like Super Mario Bros. 3, Mega Man 3River City Ransom, Super C and Castlevania III bringing in the new decade.

Summary

TMNT:FotFC is a great little game, for what it is (a toy franchise cash-in).  With an identity as muddled as its franchise, it still manages to supply its young audience with an approachable challenge, some appealing presentation and solid gameplay.  But as time goes on, it will probably be remembered more for its gentler pacing that turned off so many action gamers.

 

We’re leaving together
But still it’s farewell
And maybe we’ll come back,
To earth, who can tell?

I guess there is no one to blame
We’re leaving ground
Will things ever be the same again?
It’s the final countdown.

Do the final moments leading up to a major game release warrant a Europe reference?  Probably not.  That didn’t stop me from playing it for the final hours going into the August 25th launch of Guild Wars 2.  80s hair metal makes everything more exciting.

While hours could be killed that way, rewind back a couple weeks and it’s another story.  Two weeks of one song, no matter how rocking the guitar solo, will evoke homicide from room mates.  I had to find other sources of repetition and monotony to kill the calendar.

Classic console RPG time!

.hack – The Franchise

“Dot hack”, as it is pronounced, was a “thing” around 2003.  Where as most franchises owe origin to a single product; be it movie, book or game; .hack was a franchise at conception.  It lunged squarely into the market as a series of four RPG games (each packaged with an episode of an anime OVA on DVD), a manga book series and a 26 episode anime on TV.  Though each stood as a standalone product with its own story, all took place in the same setting.

Background

The year is 2007.  It’s the future!  It is a time where a catastrophic computer virus, that all but shut down the world’s digital infrastructure only two years prior, is still fresh in people’s minds.  To prevent a repeat of events, a United Nations branch, titled the World Network Commission (WNC), stepped in and began imposing regulations on the Internet.  The one operating system unaffected by the virus, ALTIMIT OS, becomes mandatory to connect online, giving a single corporation a monopoly over the Internet.

Obviously, nothing could possibly go wrong with this idea.

The first online game to be released since the disaster is a MMORPG named “The World”.  The quotes are mandatory.  Everyone in the franchise says it with such pause and emphasis that I feel compelled to use air quotes every time I hear it.  Being the only online game in existence now, it sells 20 million copies and becomes an instant hit.  Starve ‘em and they’ll eat anything.

But not all is well in (pause) “The World”.

.hack – The Game(s)

For this article, I’ll be focusing on the first four games in the series, which combine to form a single adventure.  That’s: .hack//Infection, .hack//Mutation, .hack//Outbreak, and .hack//Quarantine.  Colloquially, they are often jointly referred to as .hack//IMOQ.  These games play together more like a single multi-disk game than individual games.  When you complete a game, that save can be imported into the next part, keeping all of your items, experience and progress, right down to the amount of time you’ve been playing.  It’s much like what Nintendo did around the same time with their two-part RPG for the Gameboy Advanced, Golden Sun, albeit with much less cable and password induced migraine.

Story

You take on the role of an 8th grade boy who is just being introduced to “The World” by your friend, Yasuhiko, who just happens to be one of the two top players in the game — not a bad hookup.  Orca, Yasuhiko’s Level 50 avatar of awesome, takes your newb self to a newb dungeon for a quick tutorial.

But, while spending hours getting power-leveled through content by your high-level friend would be an accurate simulation of the MMO experience, it would make for a boring RPG.  So, things go south, a freakish golem with a red staff blasts glitchy bits at Orca and puts the real life Yasuhiko into a mysterious coma.  Soon, your character acquires the very power used on your friend, granting you the ability to defeat viruses and access secure locations.  Only you possess the means to solve this mystery.

What follows is an 80 hour epic, spanning 4 games, in which the fate of the world and “The World” will ultimately rest upon your shoulders.  What at first seems like an isolated indecent blossoms into a web of mystery and intrigue.  You’ll make friends, defeat viruses and possibly raise a few French cow-pig-thing abominations of nature.

If you’re dipping into .hack for story alone, you might be a little disappointed.  The story isn’t bad — quite the opposite.  There just isn’t 4 games worth of story content there.

They do a good job leaving each individual game feeling episodic.  I finished each feeling the characters had accomplished something and that the stakes had been raised for the next game.  Each resolution brings with it new questions, escalating the tension right up until the very end.  Taken entirely by itself, the story paces pretty well.  When you insert the gameplay into the equation, not so much.  It starts to feel like it’s dragging on at times.  You also tend to get most of the meaningful bits in dense chunks, usually towards the beginning and end of each game, leaving the middle as a barren wasteland of repetitious dungeon grind.

The characters are also rather flat and usually not very likable.  You accumulate a friends list, much as you would in a real MMO, and can call on them to fill your two free party member slots.  Their personalities are generally meant to reflect the kind of people you might casually encounter online.  The ditsy housewife, the abrasive jerk, the well meaning but clueless newbie, the greedy… goofy… bossy… needy… self-absorbed — I think you get the idea.  The cast of .hack are largely defined by their flaws and obsessions.  While that can be a valid and effective form of characterization, it falls flat in this context.  Only a few even have any actual involvement or motivation related to your quest.  The rest just hang around because you occasionally do things for them.  It fails to give that sense that we’re a ragtag band of misfits brought together by friendship and a mutual goal they seemed to expect you to feel in the final stretch of the game.

Mechanically Speaking

As a creative setting .hack is unique beyond praise.  We’ll get to that in a minute, but every compliment sandwich needs its nauseating center.  As a dungeon crawler, it is monotonous, clunky and often frustrating.  There is good to be had.  I can’t completely pan it, though it certainly deserves any panning I can offer it.

First, almost no changes or additions were made to the engine between games.  All four play virtually identically.  Aside from higher level monsters, the continuation of the story and another OVA DVD, you essentially paid for the same game four times.

Oh the places you will go

This wouldn’t really be so bad, if new dungeons meant new content.  The dungeons and fields that make up your adventuring turf revolve around the Chaos Gate.  As you play, you’ll accumulate words for the Chaos Gate.  A collection of three words put into the gate generates a field.  The words decide traits such as difficulty level, monster types, and layout.  With a few exceptions, all fields are flat, barren maps, speckled with monsters and random bits of aesthetic architectural.  There’s also usually an entrance to a dungeon, with several levels of rooms connected in a seemingly randomly generated manner.

This is where the monotony begins.  Fields and dungeons are not randomly generated.  If you use the same three words in the chaos gate, you’ll get the exact same field and dungeon every time.  However, the only things that separate one dungeon from another are how the same few room types are connected in a different manner with different monsters.  It has the same blandness as a randomly generated dungeon.

There are aesthetic differences.  You may get a fire field with a stonewalled dungeon.  You could get a snowy field and a crypt-like dungeon.  You could end up in a swampy field with a dungeon that looks like the inside of a giant creature.  This serves to ensure you’re not looking at the same colors hour after hour, but it does nothing to make them feel different.  In a sense, you have literally thousands of places to adventure, yet it feels like you only have one.

The monsters add some level of variety, but they resort to recoloring and recycling the same ones over again way too quickly.

Fight!

I go both ways when it comes to .hack combat.  While combat is realtime, allowing you to move and attack freely, the vast majority of what you need to do is layered in menu hell.  Want to cast a fire spell?  Turn the camera towards your target, walk into range, press triangle, choose “Skills”, move over to the magic tab, scroll down to the fire spell, choose it, then choose your target.  Oh wait, your fire spell is on your other pair of gloves.  All spells and skills are on items rather than learned by the character.  So, press triangle, go to “Equipment”, move right until you see your gloves, scroll down to the fire gloves, choose them, back out, choose “Skills”, move over to the magic tab… You get the idea.  This menu-heavy process is necessary to do almost everything.  Let’s not forget your two AI-controlled allies, who are a special kind of stupid.  They won’t even use their skills until you give them the okay.  And they have to be given permission every. single. fight.  You could also micromanage their skill usage, if you’re that kind of menu masochist.

Sometimes I had to be that masochist.  My allies would be shouting to me, “darkness enemies are weak against lighting!” all while casting everything except their lightning spell, including ones the enemy is immune to… repeatedly.  Sadly, there is no “run away from the enemy that can kill you in two hits” option in the menu.  Your squishy spell casters will die.  They will die a lot.  This is made all the more frustrating when you find yourself chasing down enemy spell casters who will happily kite you clear across the map.  At some point in developing the game, the programmers decided to make the monsters smarter than the supposedly “player controlled” characters.

I guess they wanted to truly capture the frustration of playing a MMORPG with other people online.  Mission accomplished.

Resource Management

One thing that took me a very long time to figure out in .hack, and part of why I kept putting it down back in the day, was the need to use your items.  I lost many, many times trying to cast a healing spell, only to have me or my target die before I could finish casting it.  Healing potions, however, activate instantly.  Conditions, such as confusion (a very, very annoying condition) and poison are extremely common, sometimes happening several times per fight.  The death of party members even becomes common place by the end of the series, forcing me to chug resurrects like water.  Keeping stocked up on restorative, buffing and offensive items is mandatory, as is managing them and knowing the appropriate times to use them.  It was very difficult for me to break away from the traditional RPG mentality that consumables existed purely for the tougher boss fights.

While it’s something that took getting used to, it’s also something I grew to like.  You don’t get to carry a lot of different types of items with you, and that space has to be used for all of your consumables, spare equipment (remember, spells come from equipment and can be changed out mid-fight) and any loot you find mid-dungeon.  Customizing your item load-out is just as important as any character customization.  Your potions and scrolls have to complement your abilities, cover your weaknesses and meet your recovery demands, while still leaving you enough space to rob that tomb blind.  Coming from other games, many regard it as an arbitrary and frustration limitation.  If you decide to play .hack, do yourself a favor and see it for the strategy factor that it is.

.hack as a Narrative Experience

While the story of .hack//IMOQ is an interesting bit of intrigue and mystery, it’s not so great as to earn itself a page in the history books through sheer plot quality.  What makes it so memorable occurs on a much more ambient level.  .hack makes strides in placing you in its world.  The first thing you see when starting the game isn’t “The World”, but rather your ALTIMA OS desktop.  From here, you can start up “The World”, or you can read news feeds, your emails, or check out the game’s forums.

The level of interactivity with these social mediums is unfortunately minimal, but they still serve to feed you the environment on a variety of levels.  Not everything you read has to do with your actions either.  You’ll get a news story about a new piece of technology that came out, and people will discuss it on the forums as a result.  Some of the setting are results of things that happened in the anime or the manga.  If you watch the OVA DVDs, you’ll see events occur parallel with yours.  .hack effectively creates a feeling of vastness in its world, purely through its various stories and environmental touches.

I find this serves as a unique and interesting framing device.  With the exception of the OVA DVDs, everything takes place online.  You’re given a window into a world, almost entirely through the eyes of a game.  At times, I found myself taking a step back.  I’d look at the reactions of the characters and the plans we were taking.  Sometimes, you can’t help but laugh.  Our plan to save our friends in a coma is to power-level and fight bad things in a game?  By the end, I’d met hackers and system admins.  I don’t suppose any thought to just hack me a level 99 character.  I’m saving the world here.  But silliness aside, I deeply admire the creativity at work here.  Just the meta of playing a game within a game is enough to play with your mind.

A Slice of Future and Past

One story I encountered in my news feed discussed the debate over banning smoking cigarettes in public places.  The debate even spilled over into “The World”‘s forums.  It was at that moment that I realized something.  The games came out starting in 2002 and take place in 2007.  It now being 2012, the game’s predicted future has effectively become our past and some things speculated in it have already come to pass.  Smoking has been banned in public places in many states and countries since then.

Likewise, not everything shaped up as expected.  The MMORPG market was young in 2002.  Games like EverQuest and Dark Age of Camelot were still new, and World of Warcraft didn’t even exist yet.  The gameplay of .hack//IMOQ was designed to mimic what they thought a MMORPG would be in 5 years.  Content wasn’t near as objective-based as we find in today’s games.  MMOs were very much social sandboxes of random things to kill, and .hack reflects an alternate evolution of that.

.hack also plays with some interesting themes for its day.  September 11, 2001 was not even a year old when the game hit Japanese shelves in June of 2002.  North America got their version 8 months later.  Likewise, the .hack world is in the wake a world-altering terrorist attack and in the process of recovery and reform.  It deals with themes of conspiracy, false feelings of security and a government unable to properly protect its people.  Questions such as what is an acceptable punishment for a convicted terrorist are weaved throughout.  Digging a little deeper into the game’s world can provide an unsettling mirror back at ours.

The historical perspective of .hack is perhaps what left me the most enriched by the end.  It is both amusing and haunting and well deserving of a page in gaming history.

A page that would be slightly less tarnished, were it not for gate hacking.  Gate hacking can die in a fire!

I seem to have ruined my compliment sandwich.

I Like Final Fantasy Mystic Quest

Hello, my name is Clockwork Bard and I like Final Fantasy Mystic Quest.

They say admitting it is the first step towards recovery.

My last few posts have been uncomfortably bile ridden.  I’m not that kind of bard.  It’s time for some sunshine and rainbows.

I just recently beat Final Fantasy Mystic Quest.  It’s been on my todo list for a while now.  Somewhere between unplugging the bathtub drain and finishing unpacking from my move.  Those last two still need doing, but FFMQ is officially checked off.

As it turned out, it wasn’t really much of a chore.  For starters, it isn’t very long.  I finished it in just over 15 hours at a casual, meandering pace.  Second, it is actually kind of fun.  It did a lot more right than people really give it credit.

A Beginner’s RPG

Prior to releasing FFMQ, Square Soft was four games deep in its flagship Final Fantasy series.  Two of those had made it to North America and both were successful, financially.  But not near as successful as they were in Japan.  It was Square’s hope that they could spread the RPG fever in full force over here.

But how?

Well obviously, RPGs were too scary and complicated for our simple minds.  Us brutish sorts fear things we don’t understand.  So, the goal was to make an RPG on training wheels, essentially.

And here is where I will diverge from the usual critics.  I’d dog-ear this page, for future reference.

See, I don’t think Square Soft set out on a fool’s endeavor.  I think they sought to make the right kind of game, but maybe for the wrong reason.  The desire to trim down the cumbersome RPG beast into a sleek, accessible package is the source of both FFMQ’s virtues and its flaws.  Many of the design choices are well thought out, creative and fun.  But rather than really expanding on its ideas and setting itself apart as its own game, it clung a little too hard to the genre concepts it aimed to uplift, keeping it from being the game it could have been.

Cut the Fat

So, what does Mystic Quest do to streamline the RPG formula?

  • No inventory management to speak of.  You have four consumable item types and four weapon types to swap between, one of which has limited ammunition.  Armor and weapon upgrades exist (only 3 tiers of each), but there is no need to manage them.  Aside from swapping weapon types, which is done with the press of a button, it’s all automatic.
  • Only two party members.  You play as your main character, while your second slot is filled by whatever NPC the plot dictates.  You aren’t even required to control the second character.  You can optionally set your partner to Auto, who will then blow through potions like it’s a New Year’s Eve party.
  • No free roaming overworld map.  You can wander freely in dungeons or towns, but the world map is little more than a web of nodes connected by paths.  The question of “where do I go next” is often answered with “the spot on the map that just opened up.”
  • No random or roaming encounters.  Monsters are represented by stationary characters that may or may not block your path.  Touching one enters into a battle.  Defeating it will remove it from the dungeon.  It will not come back until you leave the dungeon entirely.
  • Only 12 magic spells.  You’ll gradually find 3 categories of spells: 4 “white” support and healing spells, 4 “black” elemental attack spells, and 4 “wizard” spells which function as your more limited, high damage nukes.
  • Simple plot.  No winding, obtuse tales of quasi-real dreams or time travel or alien-god-aberrations in clown make-up with mommy issues.  Four powerful monsters have taken the magic crystals that make the world not suck and some old guy tells you that you are the prophetic knight who is supposed to set things right.  So you happily go out and kill them monsters plus their evil boss with the minimum amount of distractions and jibber-jabber.  The story has fun with itself, but does not impose.
  • Save anywhere and friendly death system.  Anytime you fail in a battle, you are given the option to rewind to the beginning of that fight and try again or reload a previous save.  Anytime you aren’t fighting or chatting up an NPC, you can bring up your menu and save.  Pick up or put down the game whenever you want and always be moving forward.

Doesn’t Sound Like Much of a RPG

If you had shown me those bullet points 10 years ago, I’d have scoffed.  I’d have scoffed so hard.  RPGs were, for many of us, an introduction into the complexities of which games were capable.  Coming off of Final Fantasy II, I wanted more.

More weapons.  More classes.  More stats.  More options.  More plot twists.

It didn’t have to be fun.  I just had to be able to get lost in it.  (That sound familiar to any of you MMORPG players out there?)  I still crave games like that, though not with the same voracious, indiscriminate hunger.  Where I once considered Final Fantasy VII‘s story to be deep and intriguing, I now regard it as convoluted and opaque.  Yet I still praise the game’s materia system.  While it was complex, it had a nice flow with both the narrative and mechanical themes of the game.  It encouraged exploration, experimentation, and character diversity, and gave a meaningful sense of party-wide growth beyond simple gear and levels.

When Cloud had an identity crisis, I neither knew what was going on by that point nor did I care.  When someone took my materia, shit got real.

We’re talking about Mystic Quest, not VII

Mystic Quest is not one of those games.  Without the tangled layers of micromanagement and subplots, its core flaws and virtues are raw, visible and naked to the world.  That core needs to be solid.

Unfortunately, as I said before, it doesn’t completely shake off its expectations.

Let’s take the magic and weapon system for a second.  This is the core of combat.  For each turn-based round of combat, you can attack with one of your four weapons or cast one of your 12 spells.  The challenge comes from exploiting situations and enemy weaknesses.  Some enemies are weak against certain weapon types or elements, or certain weapons are situationally useful for hitting multiple enemies or dealing status effects.

The problem, at least in the first half of the game, is that the game follows the traditional conventions for spell casting.  You get a certain number of each of the three types of spells which can only be replenished by sleeping at an inn or using an initially rare “seed” item.

While it makes sense to limit the powerful “wizard” class spells, the “black” elemental spells are typically weaker than your weapons.  Only when the enemy is weak against that spell’s element are they more effective.  This makes them, from a mechanical standpoint, very similar to weapons.  The limitation on using them feels arbitrary.

But, magic refilling seeds become available for sale halfway through the game.  They’re cheap (to the point of putting inns permanently out of business) and you’ve got almost nothing else to spend your money on.  You could pretty much just spam wizard nukes the rest of the game if you felt so inclined, turning everything I just dissected on its side.

I could go on, but this is already going long.  Basically, it’s that same ongoing theme marbled through out the game.  It starts to feel like they’ve got a really good thing going, then something jammed in for the sake of RPG traditions takes it down a notch.  The weapon swapping system is great and even plays really well into the game’s puzzles, but then you get an “upgraded” version of one and the others fall out of use until their combat usefulness catches up, killing that diversity and strategy.  The first half of the game is also trivialized by companions consistently having significantly better stats and gear than you.

And it goes on like that.

But all of that griping aside, I legitimately enjoyed my 15 hours.  If the core mechanics were further polished away from its Final Fantasy obligated lineage and the rest of the game built to emphasize those strengths, I can picture Mystic Quest as a very fun and engaging game to carry around on my phone.  Aside from dungeon exploration, the interface is already very touch screen friendly.

It was designed to be an easily accessible adventure that provides bite-sized doses of RPG-style monster slaying and puzzle solving.  I think that’s just what my phone needs.  I’m already brimming with ideas.

Oh and let’s not forget, the soundtrack is freakin’ sweet.

RoadBlasters (NES) Review

I want to kick start things with a review of a game near and dear to me.  I don’t play it a lot anymore, but when I do, I can’t put it down until my eyes are blurry with sleep deprivation.  That game is RoadBlasters.

Background

RoadBlasters Title Screen

RoadBlasters  was a car combat arcade cabinet by Atari, released in 1987 (not to be confused with Road Blaster by Data East from 1985).  It fared well, considering it was the twilight of the arcade’s golden age, and popular driving games like Out Run, Hang-On and Spy Hunter were already out on the market.  It earned enough success to see the game ported to over half a dozen home consoles and computers.  Even the ill-fated Atari Lynx got in on the action.  For this review, I will be using the NES port as my point of reference.

Beam Software (you will hear me bring them up more than once in the future, as I have very polarized opinions about them) handled the port for the NES version for publisher Mindscape, who released it in early 1990.  This was during a significant turning point for NES games.  Nintendo’s MMC3 chipset had been out for just over a year, and was finding its way into more and more games.  The MMC3 made it easier to produce larger, more complex games.  Games that mimicked the simplistic style of 80s arcade games were on their way out.  RoadBlasters‘s recognition suffered as a result.

The gameplay premise is simple, but effective.  You drive a car with mounted artillery across up to 50 tracks, destroying enemies in your path and trying to reach the end before your fuel runs out.  You’ll have to split your attention between collecting fuel, driving fast and vehicular homicide if you are to survive.

RoadBlasters Screen1Presentation

I don’t want to linger here too long.  Bashing on one of my favorite games is not my preferred hobby.  But some things do need to be said.  If RoadBlasters has a weakness, it is in its presentation.

The visuals are, at very least, somewhat detailed.  Driving games, even today, tend to put a little extra effort into making your car look good.  It’s the same here, with a little added shading and highlights.  The little details show, and it’s appreciated.  Objects on and around the road show similar details, and are easily differentiated from each other, which matters when you only have a split second to decide whether to shoot or dodge.  The quality isn’t anywhere near the original arcade cabinet or the Sega Genesis port, but this sort of thing is to be expected with limited resources.

Where the visual presentation really suffers is in repetitive terrain and bland backgrounds.  These weren’t highlights of the arcade game either, but they suffer just that much more here.  The only visual change between the 50 levels in the game are different backdrops on the horizon and a change of color for the flat terrain on either side of the road.  Visit such lush locals as grassy plains outside futuristic city with roadside boulders, desert plains near mountain range with roadside boulders, and inexplicably blue plains near mountain range… with roadside boulders.  The whole aesthetic is yawn-inducingly monochromatic.

The audio is weak as well.  There is no music what so ever during gameplay.  Instead, you only have the dull hum of the engine to fill the silence between bullets and explosions (which serve their purpose well enough).  It has some play to it, with changes in pitch as if it were revving and shifting gears, but it isn’t quite as good as the peppy, sporty sounds of Rad Racer.  I wouldn’t normally pick on something so insignificant, but without music, something has to step in to fill the mood, and this doesn’t do it.

But while this nag gives a D grade performance at the pony show, she walks tall where it counts in the action.  You get a firm sense of speed here.  Things whip by when you’re redlining it, and it doesn’t take long at all to accelerate to an appreciable speed after a crash.  Explosions are animated and exciting (something the arcade version did very well).  Though not the game that did it best, there’s a sense of destruction and carnage in what you’re doing.  It’s a poor overall presentation package, but the effort spent is at least in the most meaningful places.

Interaction

If you were to play RoadBlasters under ideal conditions, it would be on the sit-down, cockpit-style, arcade cabinet where the graphics are better and you man your death dealing dragster with a full steering wheel and set of petals.  If I had unlimited money, power and influence; I would ensure just such a thing was installed in ever home living room, whether you liked it or not.

The NES gamepad is a poor substitute for the original, but it gets the job done.  If you’ve played a driving game at all in the last 15 years, your analog stick conditioning may find itself swerving you about drunkenly for a time.  But once you found your directional pad thumbs again, you’d discover that RoadBlasters handles as well as can be demanded.  The car is responsive to your inputs and the turns in the track are navigated much like Rad Racer, in which you can typically power through them at a respectable speed, adjusting it to ease yourself left and right within the turn.  This is opposed to Rad Racer II, which demanded write love letters to your break petal.  This works really well in this game, since you’ll find yourself constantly adjusting your position on the track for dodging, firing and collecting.  It allows you to focus on where you are in a turn, as opposed to whether you can clear it at all.

One hang-up worth mentioning is the mapping of the gas and break.  Since the A and B fire buttons are busy handling weapons, the directional pad gets to handle both steering and speed.  This has been the birth of many thumb blisters.  It’s an unavoidable evil, given that the NES gamepad only had so many buttons, but it’s still worth noting.

RoadBlasters Panel

I want to call special attention to the display panel at the bottom of the screen.  This is an example of well designed feedback, and what I mean when I say, “nothing is placed without purpose”.  The fuel meter is the most important feedback to the player.  It fluctuates constantly through out play, and if it is empty, the game is over.  It is placed top-center, directly below the player’s vehicle.  The eye does not need to wander to retrieve this information.  The less vital a piece of information is, the further towards the edge of the screen it is placed.  Score, which has little baring on a decision in the heat of the moment, is far to the side.  The current stage number, which doesn’t change at all during the level, is off to the top-right, completely off of the panel and away from anything of interest.  This is the kind of thing we want to look for in other games.

Player Narrative

RoadBlasters plays like a late ’80s arcade game.  This shouldn’t be a surprise, since it is a port of a late ’80s arcade game.  Mission accomplished, good night everybody!

Right, not a famous Internet star yet.  Can’t phone it in like that until my first shoe deal.

RoadBlasters has a repetitive, minimalist style in keeping with early arcade games.  The presentation suffers from it, but the mechanics flourish.  These narrow-scoped mechanics give the developers the time and big picture view to polish it down to a brilliant shine.  At face value, RoadBlasters is a game where you drive a car and shoot other cars, while trying to make it to the end without running out of fuel.  Simplistic, yes.  But it’s under the hood that the fun is teased out.

Disregard Females, Acquire FuelFirst and foremost, this is a game about fuel conservation, though in a more delightfully violent way than real life would have you believe.  You have two fuel gauges, your main fuel and your reserve fuel.  Main fuel is the supply given to you at the beginning of a track.  You’ll have to collect fuel orbs to keep this from running dry between checkpoints and the finish line. Fuel orbs can be found lying on the track, or sometimes pop out of destroyed enemies.  The latter will require you to chase them down at high speed or they will get away.

Reserve fuel follows you from track to track and serves as backup in case the main fuel runs dry.  The only way to restore reserve fuel is between tracks, when the game totals up the amount of destruction you caused.  More points equals more reserve fuel.  This will greatly be influenced by your score multiplier at the end of the stage, which can be between 1x and 10x.  Each time you destroy an enemy with your primary gun, it goes up by 1.  Should you miss an enemy with your main gun, it will decrease by 1.  Accuracy is therefore key to survival in the long run.  That isn’t the case with special weapons, however, which will periodically be dropped on you and have a limited use.  They do not influence the multiplier up or down, but they can make racking up points much easier.  You lose them if you get hit, so no hording.  Go nuts.

Speaking of getting hit, enemies can destroy you with a single hit or collision.  This does little to hinder your continued existence, since a new car will simply rise from the ashes.  But fuel works more like a timer in this game, rather than following any normal fuel-usage conventions (like blowing up in a fiery ball of death with your car).  So, death does cost you precious seconds.

Fuel + Danger = Good News!What this amounts to is a chalkboard worthy example of a risk/reward mechanic.  Everything you do in the game is in the name of fuel.  You cannot succeed without fuel.  But fuel does not come without risk.  Risks resulting in failure cost fuel.  You’ll drive fast to shave off seconds on your time or chase down an enemy fuel orb.  You’ll swerve dangerously close to deadly obstacles in order to gather fuel.  You may find yourself waiting until you’re right up on an enemy’s bumper to shoot, to ensure your accuracy and preserve your score multiplier, which will get you fuel.  It is human nature to risk on an impulse.  It’s why a child will steal a cookie from the cookie jar.  The allure of getting a cookie and not getting caught can sometimes outweigh the threat of getting caught.  Any game mechanic that can exploit that element of human psychology well is very powerful.  It’s danger, it’s rewards, and it’s fun.

You could argue that almost every game is based on this idea, and you would not only be correct, you would have also stumbled onto why I want to emphasize it so much.  You’d be hard pressed to find a game that didn’t challenge you with a danger and reward you when you succeed.  So, the question then becomes, “How do the game’s mechanics support this goal?”  Are you simply completing an objective, to then be rewarded with progress?  Are their smaller moments within gameplay that entice you to flirt with danger, and are you immediately rewarded?  Are they legitimate risks, or are they just traps (which discourage risk taking over time).  Think about the risks in a game of Tetris, like trying to swing a piece across the screen that may not make it in time.  Or there’s the larger scoped risk of trying to set up a four-line Tetris clear, knowing that long piece may not come in time.  These moment to moment risks are what we want to encourage in our design.

Summary

RoadBlasters has a rusty, unimpressive exterior that has only further lost appeal with time.  But underneath the crust is an absolutely fun and addicting arcade experience that has earned its place as one of my favorite games of all time.  It possesses a risk/reward design that defines the whole experience and is executed well.  I commend the NES version for keeping the gameplay intact, but you should really keep a few quarters on yourself at all times, just in case you cross the original arcade version.  If you’re looking for a halfway point, Midway Arcade Treasures for the XBox, GameCube and PlayStation 2 has the original arcade version, reformatted for your modern gamepad, along with several other titles worth your time.  Some will no doubt show up on a future Clockwork Bard review.

Soap BoxDiscussion and Thoughts (and Mini Rant)

There are not a great many reviews out for this game, but of those that are out there, many make me cringe.  For each video I see of someone firing their gun wildly, or each comment of “the UZ CANNON is worthless, because it’s the same as your regular gun”, a small part of me dies inside.  It shows that they really don’t understand how the game works, and a reviewer really should do their research on something like that.  I believe a game experience always suffers if you don’t know the rules of the game.

That doesn’t mean this isn’t a learning experience, however.  This is an arcade game.  ”Pick up and play” is important.  Though the game explains about multipliers, points and reserve fuel in little hints between levels, this obviously wasn’t enough to catch the eyes of our players of journalistic integrity.  They didn’t make that connection.  They also didn’t notice that while using the UZ CANNON, your multiplier doesn’t change.  It is located on the edge of the panel, away from the action, so it would be less noticeable.  Whatever the cause, this is an interaction problem.  The game is not giving useful enough feedback to make the more foreign game rules obvious to the player.

What makes these rules foreign?  Well, RoadBlasters diverts from a few major conventions.  There are paradigms with which we come pre-loaded when approaching a known genre.  If we aren’t given reason to believe these are broken, we have no reason to approach the game as if they are.  These are the ones I notice:

  • Score is always secondary to survival.  Prior to Achievements offering us both immediate and lasting acknowledgement of our deeds, score had little meaning.  Even in the earliest arcade games, where reaching the top of the high score board was your ultimate goal, this came second to survival.  If your character takes damage, your game comes closer to ending.  If your game ends, you can’t collect more points.  Some incentives were often added, such as periodic extra lives for certain point thresholds, but this isn’t enough to reinforce a risky play style.  In RoadBlasters, this isn’t the case.  Score equates very strongly to continued life, and taking damage results in a fairly minor setback.  The traditional, defensive gameplay style is sub-optimal here.
  • There is no reason to let off of the fire button.  This is a very common trope among arcade shooters.  The main gun is unlimited and every wayward bullet could be the death of a target.  If the option is available to you, why not bulldoze the competition at full speed while remaining sheltered inside your flying bunker of  hot lead?  RoadBlasters mechanics reinforce accuracy, however, by means of the score multiplier.  While some may become aware of the score multiplier, if they were following “score is always secondary to survival,” then they still wouldn’t let go of this tactic.  There’s also a fun-factor to wanton bullet hell, in keeping with that short burst of intense action arcade games are designed to instill in their players.
  • If I can run out of it, I should horde it.  People like to feel prepared for what lies ahead.  So, we have a tendency to collect and conserve finite resources.  This isn’t specific to RoadBlasters, by a long shot.  Think of the average RPG.  How many healing potions do you find?  How often do you use your more easily restored magic to cast healing spells instead?  In this game, special weapons are lost if you get hit or if you find a new one to replace it.  Yet, until the player incorporates that shift from the norm into their play style, it’s hard to willingly let loose with that ammo bar glaring at you.

There, one irate rant turned into a productive game analysis.