Far Cry 4 - Thoughts

[contains spoilers]

Far Cry 3 was easily one of my favorite games that I played last year. It's funny looking back on it—after just the first hour with Far Cry 3: Blood Dragon, I was ready to give up on the series, whereas after the final hour of third installment, all I wanted to do was sing its praises to high heaven. Therefore playing Far Cry 4 was an absolute no-brainer; I was more than happy to hop back into Ubisoft's hostile world of improv madness, bow and C4 in hand. While the gameplay is not nearly as fresh as it was in 3, the younger Indian sibling improves upon nearly everything else—visuals, content, and story have been refined to create the perfect FPS adventure romp.

The gameplay in the Far Cry series is a well-established formula by this point, and Far Cry 4 doesn't stray far from the ruleset. This can be disappointing if the previous game didn't grab you, but I was personally thrilled to start from square one and amass my armaments and abilities once again. The world feels a bit bigger this time around, and while Kyrat is missing the seawater and tropical mood of the Rook Islands, it comes with its own (gorgeous!) mountainous landscape, riddled with native mystique and an absurd amount of quests. There's racing, sniping, hostage saving, bomb defusing, animal hunting, fortress-taking, and poster-burning, and none of these even advance the main story! Plus, despite the increase in quantity, the quality thankfully remains more or less the same (though many missions will blur together).

The most significantly change in gameplay for me came from the minor adjustment to your loadout—one of your four slots is now reserved for a sidearm, intended to be used during vehicle sections. My beloved tetralogy in Far Cry 3 was the bow, sniper rifle, shotgun, and assault rifle; I begrudgingly had to change up my arsenal, but it did lead me to experiment around with more weapons. I stuck closely to the sawed-off shotgun as my sidearm for a while but towards the end of the game I became enamored with the portable grenade launcher and various LMGs. Nothing wound up topping the bow however, as that trusty tool still remains the most invigorating to use when silently conquering an outpost (the sniper rifle makes the game child's play, even on the hardest difficulty). Most of my other gameplay insights have already been covered in the Far Cry 3 and Blood Dragon entries, so I'll get on to (what I feel) is one of the most important things Far Cry 4 gets right—the story.

Honestly, the narrative was better than it had any right to be. I've voiced my disdain for Far Cry 3 quite extensively; the indelible Vaas deserved more exploration than he got before his untimely demise. The main antagonist of Far Cry 4—Pagan Min—is cut from the same luny cloth that Vaas is, but lacks the same level of appeal... at first. After the wild intro, Pagan Min takes a back seat to your two questionable allies in the game, Sabal and Amita, as the plot attempts to explore the rough paths one must take to ensure the success of a revolution in a war-torn country. Since both of the Golden Path leaders have different visions on how to achieve this (old vs. new), whomever you side with will determine the outcome of Kyrat in a way that's purposely ambiguous.

But this isn't the interesting decision in the game (well, it can be, but it feels a bit too contrived for me). At the end of the game you're given a choice of whether to kill Pagan Min or not—a decision that would be a no brainer to most players. Yet the kicker of the whole shebang is that Pagan Min does nothing to fault you. Sure, he's the leader of an army of people willing to shoot your head off the moment they smell your American cologne, but while you're killing his lieutenants, stealing his treasures, and smashing his idols, all he tries to do is plead with you over the radio to come to an understanding. The guy has done some obviously heinous things since he was instated, but he's never done anything to personally attack you. When I walked into the final encounter I was fully expecting a QTE shootout with him after what I've done, but instead the two of us just sat down to dinner and he asked me to rethink my choices.

Far Cry 4 is brilliant because it succeeded at the subtle meta-commentary that Far Cry 3 struggled with. The ultimate question posed to the puppeteer behind Jason Brody was, "are you trying to play this game realistically or do you just enjoy killing dudes?", but it was abandoned during the Hoyt arc until a hasty revisit at the end. Here, its presence is finely woven into the story. The first (and only) blurb of cutscene text is from your mother telling you where to lay her ashes to rest, and as soon as Pagan Min captures Ajay, the player's very first instinct is to go out and blow stuff up. So when the end of the game comes around and Min poses the initial task yet again—will you do what you came here to do or continue to be a blood-thirsty maniac?—the player is given Far Cry 3's dilemma without the hamminess of slice your girlfriend's throat. Pagan Min is an evil eccentric but would having Sabal or Amita in command be entirely different? The decision is arguably arbitrary but what's more important is whether or not the player feels they have a responsibility to honor their mother as Ajay would; shooting Min brings the player no closer to Lakshmana than at the very beginning of the game, but it instead satiates this weird, unnecessary bloodlust that he/she revels in throughout the entire journey (seriously, watching bodies ragdoll out of an exploding vehicle is pretty entertaining). I just found it so fascinating that the game handed you essentially one objective to keep in mind from the start, but by its closing you're left to decide if you even care what the game (or any game!) tells you to do.

Most of the plot threads outside of the main path are cute, but not nearly as interesting. Hurk and the stoner twins get too much screen time considering how shallow their characters are, whereas I would've liked to hear more from dialogue Noore and De Pleur (I had an especially strange moral dilemma regarding whether to kill Noore or not, and I wish I read more about her character other than her various perfectionist demands regarding the arena). Rabi Ray Rana is the most affable out of the entire cast and I enjoyed piecing together The Goat notes, though it's disappointing that that thread didn't lead anywhere. I was trying to get a better understanding of just who or what The Goat was, at times wondering if we were perhaps the same person, but by the last mask it seemed as though it was nothing more than another checkmark collectible. These activities, like with the holy land segments and drug trips, were interesting diversions that added a little more color to the world at least.

The biggest fault I can find with the game is that it is too similar to its previous title; Far Cry 4 lies somewhere between an expansion pack and a true sequel, retreading ground with a similar core theme and symmetrical gameplay. I can discredit the game for that, but the problem is that it's so much fun that the repetition hardly becomes a bore due to the numerous ways you can go about playing it. The story being as thoughtful and interesting as it was is precisely what I wanted from a sequel to 3, and though I was lukewarm on the plot during the outset I hold no shame in thinking it's one of the best AAA tales of 2014 along with Wolfenstein: The New Order. I think if Far Cry 5 fails to change things up I'll likely burn out on the series (especially since the games contain so much content to wade through), but so far Far Cry 4 hits all the right notes and feels like the definitive experience.

Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number - Thoughts

[contains spoilers]

Hotline Miami returns! The sequel to the infamously hyper-violent psycho simulator was released this month and I was very excited to get my hands on it. I consider the original a classic—it was a splash of freshness and originality, featuring intense gameplay mixed with really unique, entrancing music. Yet when I heard Hotline Miami 2: Wrong Number was announced, a thought crossed my mind (as I'm sure it has for many others)—did this game need a sequel? I still went in excited to see which tunes Dennaton Games meticulously picked this time around, but I was mostly curious as to how Hotline Miami 2 would differentiate itself from its predecessor.

The basic gameplay remains primarily the same, but has been tweaked in a couple ways to change how you play it. The two most important alterations are the lack of masks and the more expansive room layout. The plastic animal heads only appear in around half the missions, and even then you only have a handful to choose from as opposed to the overwhelming options present in the first game. There's a couple of notable abilities, like the hard-to-master roll and Ash & Alex's gimmick, but you'll largely have to solve each stage relying on your raw skill over your initial load-out.

The increase in room size for each level is more of a "make or break" aspect. There's fewer interlocking rooms but longer hallways; armed enemies are quick to react from a distance so there will be multiple occasions where you'll suffer a shotgun blast from offscreen despite the constant use of the shift key. On top of that, there's a higher enemy density which can make clearing floors a pain if you miscount which men are still patrolling. Gunshots no longer alert the entire floor so you'll be relying on them far more than the first game, and camping around doorways to kill everyone you've aggro'd is usually the optimal way to make it through the latter stages.

The results of these changes are mixed. Some people think they raise the skill bar and force you to play with extreme precision if you're aiming for an S rank, but for me it makes the journey through the game more grating. It's certainly harder than the first, but the lack of challenge was never a problem for the first title. In some ways it feels like it's designed for the "Fans" of the original, but for those that want to dip their toes back into the Miami's blood-soaked neon-beyond, it will be an arduous task that can be more frustrating than fun (like with the boat stage or Hawaii missions).

While I usually reserve a section of these entries for a synopsis on the story if I deem it applicable, I'm not sure if I have much to say for Wrong Number. I've looked at some summaries on forums and while the interweaving paths of the characters and their meta-commentary is interesting, I also felt like much was lost when the designers aimed to establish a grounded narrative. I know that 50 Blessings was present in the secret ending to Biker's path, but the initial draw of "do you enjoy hurting other people?" wasn't whether it was related to PTSD or the desire for anti-Russian retribution—it served as a glimpse into humanity's most violent desires. It was the appeal of popping pills and killing a group of people that may or may not be related to any kind of syndicate, the gnawing feeling of your own insanity close behind as the corpses of your victims began to appear in local convenience stores.

Ultimately it's up to the author to decide which direction to take their work. Some will enjoy piecing together the shuffled series of events or arguing whether Richard embodies Jacket, but I still contest that the magic becomes drained the closer the plot gets to reality. Plus the purposeful obfuscation of the timeline strangles the pacing of the game, with the climax happening midway through and a lot of "filler" occurring when the player takes control of Richter and the Son afterwards. The last level was spectacularly inventive, but beyond that the latter half of the game felt like it took a little too long to tell its garbled plot.

It can be argued that Hotline Miami 2 does enough mechanically to distinguish itself from the first game, but given how distinctive the original was, Wrong Number isn't nearly as impactful. The music is fantastic but isn't as novel, and the absurdly violent gameplay isn't quite as shocking as the first time you smashed someone's head open with a bat. Wrong Number is enjoyable in its own right if you're looking for a little more thrill and danger (or are mad enough to manually unravel the story), but the original remains a much more enticing package in comparison. Plus getting killed by enemies offscreen tends to sour the experience.

Resident Evil (2002) - Thoughts

[contains spoilers]

The 2002 remake of Resident Evil (often abbreviated to REmake) captures the essence of the survival horror genre. "Survival horror" was initially defined back in 1996 when the first Resident Evil was released, but REmake takes its concept and sharpens it into a deadly point. The amount of work the designers put into reshaping the original blueprint is stellar, adding a bevy of new ideas to make the game feel entirely new. And on top of that, Resident Evil remains legitimately frightening despite its charming b-movie quality.

When I first got REmake back in 2002, I was too cowardly to properly play through it. Every time I began the game on Normal I would stop some shortly after getting the Armor Key, overly concerned for my munitions and fearful of what traps lie ahead. Eventually I wound up starting a game on Easy with Chris to "scout" ahead... and beat it on that save file. So last month with all the excitement surrounding the release on Steam, I decided to play through the Gamecube version again with Jill on Normal this time, fully ready to tackle the challenge that haunted me as a teen.

It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. The beginning is the most tense section of the game, as you're low on ammo and have no way of dispatching zombies quickly (and even when you finally get the shotgun, ammo is sparse early on). I was intensely frugal during the first two hours of the game on this go-around, saving only after I had made good progress and dispatching zombies next to one another so both bodies burn with a single gasoline use.  Right about the time that I got to the residence on the outside of the woods did I realize that I was pretty well stocked, and the rest of the game became a lackadaisical breeze. By the end I was sitting pretty with eight first aid sprays and around thirty shotgun shells, Tyrant being the only BOW that posed a threat. Despite all of this, I continued to feel trepidation every time I turned the Gamecube on to play.

What makes Resident Evil horrifying isn't just its eerie atmosphere or the misshapen monstrosities—the fear stirs within the gameplay. By limiting ammo, health, and the ability to save, enemies become terrifying due to the impact they can make on your munitions. Jump-scares aren't just frightening because of their unpronounced immediacy but that it also means you might be wasting precious ammo or health if you panic. Every bite you take is an herb lost, and every fleet-footed abomination with claws can send you pretty far back if you haven't saved in a while. That's not to say that games without manual saving and equipment-juggling aren't scary—Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs is plenty unnerving—but REmake's terror is punctuated by how uncompromising the gameplay appears to be.

The tank controls are a point of contention that I think work really well in Resident Evil's structure. The more versatility you have in movement the less intimidating monsters become, unless you also give the enemies an increase in speed or quantity (e.g. Dead Space and Dead Rising). The tank controls aren't meant to be fluid nor lucid; it feels clumsy in order to put you on the same playing field as the shambling zombies, and emphasizes just how powerful the more nimble monsters—Cerberuses, Crimson Heads, and Hunters—can be. It's difficult to get away from enemies when you're being attacked because it's supposed to be, and whether or not you think that stunting the player with awkward controls is a good design is up to you. I don't think it's nearly as clumsy as some people make it out to be, though I admit the tight hallways can make it difficult to skirt around zombies.

While I mostly laud the mechanics, there's plenty of praise that can be heaped onto the game's presentation. I played REmake on a CRT TV so the visual clarity was a bit muddled, but the game still looks fantastic thanks to the pre-rendered backgrounds; I actually think playing it at such a low resolution helped since the character models blend in seamlessly with the backdrops. I was especially impressed with some of the camera angles in the game, giving it a "cinematic" feel without taking agency away from the player (like the tilted frame looking down towards the mask area or the uncomfortable close-ups of the player when they step through a door). One of my favorite tricks is when the camera shifts to a hallway scene where the light flickers from the windows suspiciously, filling the player with inevitable dread. The score works wonders too, becoming downright horrifying during some moments (like the first time you step into Umbrella's laboratory).

Thirteen years later and Resident Evil still remains as ingeniously spooky as it was when it first came out. It may seem contradictory how I praised the game on its survival quirk yet had absolutely no problem with it by the second act, but a large part of this was due to my previous experience conjoined with how immensely cautious I was the entire time. The beginning of the game was still tense for me despite knowing the layout and booby traps barring my path, and the Umbrella laboratory remained one of the creepiest settings in the game even though I was over-armed for it. A special shoutout to Lisa Trevor for being even worse than I remember—realizing I was trapped with her in the mines was nerve-wracking, with the camera angles working in part to obscure her location. I had a blast with REmake and it makes me curious to see if Resident Evil 2 holds up just as well.
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Images obtained from: thisisxbox.com, vg247.com, gamefreaks.co, galleryhip.com

Outland - Thoughts

Ikaruga is a fantastic game—it introduced an engaging polarity system that's easy to understand but brutal to master, especially in the heat of combat. It's short, massively repayable, highly difficult, and really creative with its level design. So in that sense it's easy to see why many revere and love Treasure's immaculate STG, though oddly, scant few have tried to replicate it. Housemarque's is one such (bold) developer; they aimed to marry Ikaruga's polarity mechanic with a side scrolling design philosophy in Xbox 360's Outland, putting the player on the ground with a sword rather than in the air with a gun. While the idea may seem positively engrossing (a Metroidvania platformer with a polarity mechanic!), it feels more like a basic platformer that will require a bit more patience than you'd expect.

First and foremost, the visuals for the game are great—the blues and reds stick out against the dark foreground, despite how much miscellaneous detail may cover the screen at times. The background art isn't something you'll find yourself fawning over, but it does a fantastic job at providing enough detail and variation so that you never feel like assets are obviously repeating. This can be especially tricky to pull off for a game that adopts a silhouette aesthetic—as foreground detail becomes essentially nonexistent—but it's also a wise choice for a game in which bullets need to be clearly and distinctively marked.

Unfortunately Outland takes far too long to finally get into full swing. I finally found a comfortable amount of challenge by the time I entered into the City area, but by then there wasn't that much of the game left. When you only have one polarity early in the game, you'll spend a lot of time just waiting for bullets and platforms to change color, which is my main disappointment—the game emphasizes shifting colors at designated times, rather than deftly dancing between the two and dodging particles. There are instances where you'll have to be quick on your feet, but those times are pretty rare, and since the game doesn't really offer multiple options towards overcoming its challenges, the level design is really all it has.

Beyond that I only have a few other minor gripes with the game: the absence of healing at checkpoints, the inability to view other maps from the menu, and the lack of rebindable controls (so switching colors could be RT instead of RB). Bosses are especially a mixed bag, leaning more towards frustration than fun. One problem is that the encounters last too long, often having a lengthy preamble before you can fight them proper. The Winged Serpent boss is the most offensive example of this, requiring a exhaustive running sequence just to get to a battle that becomes too cluttered and hectic for its own good. I do admire a lot of the heart poured into the craft of the game, even if it doesn't seem like I'm showing it... I suppose I was just underwhelmed with the direction Housemarque took in the end.

Perhaps I was at fault for wanting more precision and dexterity out of a game sharing its core mechanic with Ikaruga; Outland is strangely more about waiting than dodging, but seeing as its a downloadable title made by a very flexible studio, I think it remains a respectable title. The polish here certainly indicates that a lot of care went into it, and despite my gripes, it's an enjoyable platformer on a console mired in bad ones. I do wish more games would try to fiddle around with the polarity mechanic, but I'm also thankful for what's been attempted thus far.
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Images obtained from: otakubutgangsta.com, housemarque.com

Okami - Thoughts

[contains spoilers]

Some games tend to cast a shadow so immense and fuliginous that few other developers attempt to enter its genre. The Legend of Zelda franchise is a textbook example of this phenomenon, drawing in multiple imitators during its 2D era (Neutopia, Golden Axe Warrior, Beyond Oasis) but scaring most off after the risky transition to the third dimension. Clover Studio's Okami is something I've seen bravely compared to the Hylian hero's legacy, though often as "it does what Zelda does, but better!" Because of my adoration for Viewtiful Joe I bought Okami when it was new, but (shamefully) only got around to finishing it this year. I enjoyed the whimsical wolf god's journey through the shimmering land of Nippon, but the claims of superiority to Zelda's original structure are definitely exaggerated—if anything, it and Zelda share similar pitfalls.

I'd prefer this entry not to be a direct competition between the two titles, so I'll dispense with the Zelda comparisons for now. Okami's greatest strength is the sense of culture it brings with it. This isn't just evident in foreground of mythology & music, but is crystalized in the entire aesthetic package; I would argue that if the game was made anywhere other than Japan, it would not have retained its unique, pleasant flavor. The cultural perspective Okami exhibits is part of the reason why I find inveterately foreign studios both challenging and refreshing, as the exposure to a new kind of world can be very enlightening.

Clover's Nippon is one that is awe-strikingly beautiful, rich with cherry blossoms and eccentric characters. The most vivid aspect of the game is the art style, its raw ink brush smatterings present on every object and character—even repeated asset feels special with this filter! Though there are only several adventure fields in the game, each one is just the right size and has the perfect tune to accompany it as you traverse across grassy knolls and sandy shores. And speaking of tunes, Okami's majestical soundtrack is almost indelibly tied to the visuals, the composers doing an amazing job with recurring themes and tugging at the heartstrings during the final act (it reminded me a touch of Journey's momentous finale due to the impact of the music alone).

Though the game implements traditional japanese folklore into its story, I was more intrigued by its representation in the art. I looked forward to how each enemy was rendered on the bestiary scroll, as well as in-game during a battle. Every foe felt eerie and captivating—the Red & Blue Ogre, Great Tengu, and Igloo Turtle were among my favorites. Bosses were exceptionally well done too, with the Spider Queen and Blight looking truly menacing with a pinch of melancholy, and Orochi's hideous presence bleeding into the bestiary parchment made him that much more terrifying.

Fighting all of these mythical creatures, however, was an entirely different matter.

You see, where I feel that Okami falters is in its pacing and somewhat in the combat. The battle system in the game is serviceable—fulfilling its purpose without any flourish, though oddly underwhelming for a Kamiya title. During the beginning the combat is unfortunately rote and dull, opening up only halfway through the game when you acquire multiple weapon types, a dodge, and more enemy variety to play around with. However the game can be quickly thrown out of balance the moment you pull out any glaive weapon, as the celestial broadswords can swiftly dispatch any monstrosity in your path. I had to actually restrain myself from using it during the final boss fight when I realized that a single combo could reduce his health by a third; I desired the story's climax to resemble at least somewhat of a struggle.

But while the combat is something I could learn to enjoy, the pacing was not. Orochi is built up as the main antagonist in the game but is slain a third of the way through the story—after that, you more or less wend around until you bump into Yami. Again, I enjoyed the story and found the final battle to be the most emotionally powerful encounter Clover or Platinum has ever produced (yes, even more than Bayonetta and The Wonderful 101), but with regards to building Yami up, almost no consideration was shown here. Nine-tails was the most frightening villain in the game and even she takes a backseat to Orochi after her limelight dwindles, the hydra stealing unnecessary amounts of screen time for being such a simple enemy. I get that the appeal of Yami is that he's an condensed, unknowable form of evil, but the aimlessness after Act I just made the game feel so much longer than it wound up being.

The stilted pacing doesn't merely affect just the plot either. Entering combat requires loading so you're not entirely incentivized to fight foes your way from point A to B, the mermaid coin pools are too rare and the item that lets you travel between save points is locked behind item grinding, and dungeons are entirely linear affairs with no diversions or options to explore, which fails to differentiate them from the rest of the linear game (other than in setting). And lastly, there's so much dialogue that it puts Skyward Sword's incessant nagging to shame. It's demeaning to have an NPC tell me where to go for reason X, and then Issun to repeat the same thing back, and when I arrive I'm told that I'm there for reason X. This is especially irksome whenever the slow dialogue takes over, as it just extends certain scenes out well beyond their bearable limit. The dojo was just about where I had enough of the copious amounts of text, as I timed one trip to it to take nearly 20 minutes just to learn additional combos and the ability to do damage when I maneuver (things which require no tutorial whatsoever!) The little things like mashing "A" through treasures obtained or "Start" every time I fed an animal wore me down by the end, and I can only be thankful the game didn't ask me to go on another fetch quest before it was over (though it did force me to fight Orochi for a third time).

I didn't ever dread playing Okami—I found a lot of it to be fun!—but I wasn't sad when it was over. The game doesn't "overstay its welcome" as much as it "understates its objectives", lasting a good while but failing to outwardly convince the player to remain invested. It's a shame too since the wondrous world is so full of color and quirkiness, each of its enemies a sight to behold. I was glad that I stuck around to experience Clover's hodgepodge of ancient japanese myths, though I'm unsure if there will ever be a second playthrough in the future. Either way, Okami's visual charm will remain as radiant as the sun.
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Images obtained from: okami-game.com, vgblogger.com, destuctoid.com, shadowpuppeteer.com

Gargoyle's Quest - Thoughts

Video game spin-offs often present an opportunity to create a novel idea. Mainline entries may be expected to tow the line, but when given the keys to a universe with an established setting and characters, designers can crank out some brilliant variations. With that being said, Ghosts 'n Goblins is a series I wouldn't have said deserved a spin-off—Sir Arthur's brutal action adventures have always been fun romps that deserve their merit, but creating yet another platforming game in the same (relatively uninvolved) universe seemed unnecessary.

Thank god I was wrong though—Gargoyle's Quest is one of the best platformers on the Game Boy.

The game stars Firebrand of the Red Arremer tribe (those nasty crimson buggers that hound Sir Arthur throughout all of his perilous adventures) and lets you take control of the fiend as he trudges his way through the Ghoul Realm to save it from destruction. The story is less incidental than its parent series but only goes skin deep, hitting plenty of often-plucked notes the hero's journey is known for. It can be amusing at times (like encountering a town where its inhabitants punish loafing with cannibalism), but the prose is far from the main course—that dish belongs to the flight-fancy gameplay.

Gone is the notorious swoop from Firebrand's genetic arsenal—instead the player must balance limited flight time with wall climbing. This slows the gameplay down but allows for considerably more horizontal & vertical interaction as you scale up walls and hover over tracts of spikes. Later on you get the ability to spit a gooey orb which will stick to sharp surfaces, enabling safe contact with them and leading to some pretty gnarly gameplay sections. As the game progresses, Firebrand will learn new skills and increase his endurance, but the traps and enemies become more devious to compensate (although I'd argue the tower in the first part of the game is probably the hardest challenge).

Looking over these bullet points may not make the game seem that impressive, but the level design is excellent and suits the mechanics well. Enemies are wisely implemented and your options for movement are limited, forcing you balance out of your flight meter as best as possible (which gets complicated when you're climbing up a serrated tunnel with homing creatures on your tail). Since movement is slow it feels a bit more like Castlevania than Ghosts 'n Goblins, demanding the player have a mastery over the controls and enemy placement in order to survive; rarely is the absurd precision G'nG demands present here. The use of vertical movement may not seem like much but it's a unique approach to traversing a stage that's rarely seen in platformers (or implemented well).

There's an overworld latched onto the journey that helps expand the gameplay beyond it's admittedly sparse six "main" levels, though it's not without its unflattering bumps. The enemy encounter rate can feel bloated at times, especially after you figure out how to best win the battles. The towns often feel more like side-shows than places you'll be excited to visit, and the mini-stages scattered around, while fun and clever the first time, get stale upon sequential retreads. It's nothing egregious, but overall the overworld can start to drag on when you're sent back to a town after yet another game over.

Luckily the meat of the game remains untarnished—the main levels are far and away the best thing the game has to offer, each long trek ending with a frantic boss battle. The treacherous arenas you encounter the bosses in only serve to aid their attack patterns, making every engagement kinetic and frightening. The final showdown features an impressive screen-filling devil but ironically winds up being the most boring and repetitive fight of the bunch. The other colossal beasts are enormously fun to tackle though, especially Rushifell, who launches a homing projectile at you as you work your way around a bottomless pit (with only small blocks available to replenish your wing meter). The levels themselves are quite entertaining too, remaining challenging even up to the final stage (where you'll have unlimited flight, which must have been a headache to develop a stage around). However, one last negative tally goes to the penultimate stage's drills for being absolute garbage, requiring absurd timing to pass through unscathed—probably the biggest design choice that I was scratching my head over.

Besides the few off-kilter diversions, Gargoyle's Quest is a fantastic game. It introduces a flurry of great mechanics that put it well beyond being a simple platformer, challenging the player with wall climbing, wing management, and a whole lot of projectile dodging. Besides the overworld, nearly everything about it is engaging, the difficulty ramping up quite nicely throughout the quest. Gargoyle's Quest sums up to be something more than just a pocket adventure, and joins the Game Boy's hierarchy of sublime video games.
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Images obtained from: consoleclassix.com, playeronepodcast.com,  gametheory.com

Oniken - Thoughts

While I contend that Shovel Knight is the best 8-bit style game made in the post-NES era (that doesn't begin with "Rockman"), Oniken deserves an honorable mention. Whereas the cerulean crusader took his laurels from the likes of Mega Man and Ducktails, Oniken looks towards Ninja Gaiden and Shadow of the Ninja for its oldschool training, being more concerned with execution than flexibility. This means that game offers the player only a few methods to tackle its obstacles with, forcing them to hone their reflexes and learn pattern recognition on the fly.

The story is your usual fare of a violent loner taking down a tyrannical madman fueled by gasoline and a thirst for power. It's nothing to write home about but gets the job done; notable is the violence displayed in both the cutscenes and gameplay. It can be quite jarring at times as it's not often you see a little 8-bit head getting chopped in half. This minor detail adds a lot more "grit" to the world of Oniken, and I think it nails the hyperviolent anime aesthetic it aims to emulate despite the bright colors.

The color palette itself stays close to the limited selection the NES is privy to. I would hesitate to call Oniken a looker even by NES standards—some of the levels fare nicely on the visuals, while others (the boat, the forest) can look pretty silly. There is a solid amount of variety in the game as it takes you across eight (mostly different) stages, so I don't really hold the lack of better visuals against it. Plus the grotesque mechanical design of the final two levels reminds me of Sunsoft's Batman, which is always a great thing to strive for. The music is neither here nor there unfortunately.

But enough talk of the pleasantries—the action is what Oniken was made for! To get this off my chest, my biggest complaint is that I couldn't get any controllers I had to work properly with it. I had to fiddle around with some Joy2Key configurations, so at times I felt that my jumps were a little imprecise or that I wasn't attacking as fast as I should've been able to. Besides that though, the game plays as smooth as it needs to be—the Strider-esque blade is fast and has a good reach, though I found myself most indebted to the grenades in tricky situations. The randomized drops from item containers can be frustrating at times (especially if you don't get health before a boss) but it at least keeps you from completely memorizing the stages and treating them like an exercise in muscle memory.

I'm not one to achievement hunt anymore, but I confess that it was a lot of fun obtaining the "no-death" accolades for each of the stages (my first playthrough naturally netted me around half of them). Even while replaying stages I've already beaten before I found the gameplay exhilarating, certain aspects of the level design continuing to impress me. Sure, there's a lot of moments near the end that require a bit of foreknowledge, and a few of the bosses (I'm looking at you Hackan) were more about going all out rather than dodging, but the vast majority of the game is well-crafted, smart, and cool. I think it's a game I would've loved to design back in my adolescence, especially regarding the ominous-yet-rad final boss design.

Oniken's ride is a simple & short one, but it's a helluvalotta fun. It's one of those titles that after the credits began rolling, I knew I would return to at a later time. Oniken isn't as polished as the games that inspired it, but if you want some classic NES action on the PC, there's rarely better places to look... well, besides Shovel Knight.