The Magical Chase Conundrum

Everyone cares what everyone else is buying, playing, liking, and disliking, so the quality, rarity, and cost of the US version of Magical Chase are Turbo topics that are never dropped. Those who are actually interested in the TG-16 for its games as opposed to the ephemeral delight that can be had from stocking trophy cases with chips and boxes can't help but monitor the escalating price of the cartoony shooter. Reactions to the madness have varied. Some people wave their fists at their computer screens in anger, some roll their eyes in disdain, some shake their heads with great somberness, some scoff at the ludicrousness of it all. All share in the disgruntlement, but there hasn't been as much commiserating among the ranks as one might expect. Instead, accusations regarding the motivations people have in defending or defaming the game are hurled about. Some who aren't fond of it claim it garners more attention than it deserves due to its perceived rarity and that owners of the card would never make themselves look the fools by slating a game they spent wads of cash on. Some who adore it claim the title wouldn't receive a shred of the criticism it does if it weren't available only at bloated prices. A point occasionally lost in the tussling is that there are a good number of folks who genuinely like, dislike, or are indifferent to the thing.

As is made quite clear in the review of MC that I've posted on this site, I've cast my lot with the not-enamored-of-it crowd. Any ulterior-motive accusations would prove baseless in my case, as I do own the US version of the game and I've lauded other expensive TG-16 products. Besides, attributing my dislike for MC to cost- or collector-inspired disgust would suggest I'm utilizing some sort of structured reasoning in arriving at my verdicts on Turbo titles. Certainly, the zany opinions I've been passing along here for years should serve to dismiss that notion.

While the reasons behind my status as a non-fan are of the pure, no-hidden-agenda kind, I definitely do have some fond recollections of my experiences involving the chip. It was quite the memorable morning that saw me brave a snowstorm to pick the damn thing up at the post office (true story). Understand I would will my way through torrential downpours, lava showers, massive earthquakes, and asteroid strikes to get hold of the meanest Super Momotarou Dentetsu-caliber TurboChip; there was no way I was going to let a few fluffy flakes cause my Magical Chase to stand idle in a musty parcel-filled backroom. Once I managed to bull my way back home, I powered the game up and played right through it. I believe I've even revisited it a few times since then. But sessions with the card aren't prominent in my memories; the act of acquisition is what stands out--and certainly not just for the brutal-blizzard aspect.

Witch hunts held to find and belittle ill-intentioned, non-Turbo-playing Magical Chase owners have never resulted in any late-night knocks on my door. The mobs have let me be--and for good reason, I would say. My copy has not gone unplayed, and I think my status as a "true TG-16 fan" has been solidified by now. I do believe that the "joy" I've derived from obtaining and owning the game is somewhat different in nature from the elation felt by any given materialistic collector who spends a significant amount of cash merely to acquire and display a highly sought-after trinket. To be sure, the path I traveled to MC ownership was anything but identical to the routes traversed by most cash-flinging game gatherers. But the fates of our respective copies, as well as the reasons behind our respective purchases, might not differ a great deal.

People like to have some sort of end in sight for any activity they take on or task they lay out for themselves. Video-game collectors, be they of the passionate, "just hand me the damn chip" player type or the mint-condition-box-hunting hoarder sort, set particular benchmarks for that very reason. A common aim to strive for in recent years has been the acquisition of the entire library of US Turbo titles. It wouldn't do just to strive to obtain all the enjoyable games that are available for the system, as there is no set enumeration of said games. And it wouldn't do simply to target all the games produced by a particular well-regarded company, as that in most cases wouldn't make for a lengthy quest or one of much challenge. Perhaps most importantly, few if any other people are undertaking such endeavors. So procurement of the full set of officially released US titles is the typical goal to shoot for, as set-in-stone parameters exist, the journey will not be of the unchallenging or inexpensive sort, and other people sure would like to achieve it too.

Plenty of reasons are presented by would-be Turbo monopolists to explain their chip-and-disc-nabbing adventures. Their motivations certainly have no relevancy when it comes to my own PCE-related escapades and don't incite much reaction at all from me these days, but I can't help but be concerned about the mental well-being of any poor fellow hunting only for stateside releases. It's disturbing to think of the outstanding titles that are disregarded in favor of products purchased simply because there are other folks out there who really would like to own them.

Magical Chase vs. good PC Engine games

Of course, the above-displayed screen columns serve more to poke fun at Magical Chase than to make any sort of significant point (and I'm sure there are those who'll howl that they prefer the MC puff-monster to the Spriggan dragon mecha anyway). There are very few nutcases around who have shunned the entire PC Engine library as they've gone about their US-grail crusades. Yes, most Turbo players today have the good sense to embrace a quality title regardless of its hemisphere of origin. But common sense is a damnable thing for some. With it comes awareness that the Japanese version of MC can be had for relative pocket change--an inconvenient fact for those who are in pursuit of the US rendition but swear by the "I simply want the chance to play the game on real hardware" mantra (and let's not BS around regarding the swapping out of colored blocks for wooden bridges in a single level).

I'm not out to judge anyone. After all, if our meritoriousness as "true TG-16 fans" were evaluated on the frequency with which we give each of our games a go, my grand collection would likely be the first to be declared the property of an unworthy owner. Life simply doesn't afford me the time to pay regular visits to individual members of my library. I'm sure that the same holds true for many other true-blue Turbo players. And so my Magical Chase and quite a few other Magical Chases have nice, tidy homes where they're cherished and appreciated--and by and large left to rot.

But again, people have their own specific reasons for wanting to own the game. At this point, they could be looking to utilize it as a colorful Christmas-tree ornament for all I care. But I do find one regularly presented explanation rather disingenuous: that owning the entire US library would fulfill some sort of childhood dream. Sure, obtaining all 138-odd Turbo titles seemed quite the out-of-reach proposition for many an allowance-saving, lawn-mowing teenager back when said titles could actually be found on store shelves. But it was also a notion that any mentally stable young gamer wanted absolutely no part of.

Let me share something with you about most of us back-in-the-day "true TG-16 fans." We didn't sit around dreaming of a glorious future in which we would be able purchase all the slop that NEC was serving up to us. We were frustrated and angry. We knew about the brilliant games that were being released for the PC Engine in Japan. And we knew that we were never going to get localized releases of most of those games despite the occasional false-hope-inspiring magazine blurb.

Some people dreamed about owning the games on the left.
Yeah.

Oh, sure, I was curious about each and every lame-looking US release I would come across screens of while perusing game mags. Sure, I wanted to give every one of 'em a try. I'm always up for finding the good in games, even in hunks of chip-waste. But I really would've appreciated the chance to look for good in Parodius rather than in TaleSpin. Those who differed with me on the matter... well, I doubt such people actually existed. Let's cut the crap. If I'm mistaken and there really were some young lads back then who fantasized about one day owning the likes of the ever-elusive Timeball, well, I offer my condolences that they didn't receive the psychiatric aid they so desperately needed at the time.

There are many folks who present more-reasonable-on-the-surface lines of reasoning in explaining their every-game-or-bust journeys, who stick to their "I shall play it" guns and who truly aren't scumbags more interested in burnishing their games than in playing them (or smarmy resellers looking to do some flipping). I do think there's something about the quests undertaken by these particular people that makes said quests nobler than a sudden, whimsical bored-rich-man's acquisition. It's nice that the objects of the pursuits will actually be played, even if hardly at all in a lot of cases. And most of these collectors of purported integrity will complete their missions only after significant stretches of time have passed. Long waits for something can lend to appreciation for said something. With all of that said...

Call me cynical if you will, but I don't believe there's much difference in motive here. These pursuits are not about playing Magical Chase and its pricy cohorts on real hardware. They're not about fulfilling childhood dreams. They're idiosyncratic in nature. The act of acquisition is what matters here.

Look, I'm not trying to bash any well-intentioned collectors. I myself have already laid out cash to obtain all of the officially released US titles, and I intend to acquire every PC Engine game I possibly can. There isn't any stirring or significant reason for me to do so. Sure, I play each and every game I get. In fact, I play just about all of them through to their ends. And I do work on a web site with the expressly stated goal of providing burly opinions on every Turbo title around. But there are other means by which I can enjoy the games and garner the information I need on them--means I'm not averse to. The fact is I enjoy adding the real deals to my library. It didn't start out that way, and I'll leave the deep psychoanalysis regarding the transition and the true inspiration for my PCE-related activities to the experts. I just know that collecting is fun for me.

And I know all about unobtainables. US Magical Chase? It's small potatoes compared to the Akiyama Jins and Kid's Stations standing between a PCE extremist and his ultimate goal. Yet I've never felt the slightest bit of frustration over the unlikelihood that I'll ever acquire such mythical exist-only-in-whispers-and-heavily-guarded-glass-cases releases. The reason is that these games were out of my reach to begin with. Each first-time glimpse I had of such titles encompassed an accompanying price tag featuring a number beyond my counting capabilities and credit-card limits.

For longtime Turbo fans, that wasn't the case with Magical Chase. It wasn't the case with Dynastic Hero or Super Air Zonk or Terraforming. These titles were available at affordable prices for well over a decade. Other people--typically bored dipshits with superfluities of cash on their hands--made these games virtually unobtainable, which not only makes many old-timers extremely mad but also makes them want to acquire the entire US library even more.

I'm sure that the idea of having a complete collection seemed nice to a lot of Turbo veterans during the lengthy period that it was a valid possibility. One of these years, or one of these decades, some of them might even have followed through on the notion. Completion clearly wasn't of the utmost importance, though; it was a fancy. Only when others (particularly of the asshole variety) made it something much harder to accomplish did it suddenly take on some significance.

The sad thing is that there's an endless cycle at work here. As more and more people grow angry and find their fires for a complete collection fueled, more and more money-loaded psychos will appear on the scene in search of highly desired oddities to toss in with their other on-exhibit novelties. Everyone cares what everyone else wants and thinks and does.

Of course, it's very easy for me to call for some perspective here. I already own US Magical Chase. If my library were devoid of it, would I be angry about the situation? You bet I would be. But perhaps that's the point right there: I've never been known for rationality. You don't want to be like me.

And if you're one of the people in search of a tower-themed-backdrop-hosting MC and I've got you pegged all wrong, if the motivating factor in your case is of a variety I simply haven't considered, well, I wish you luck in your endeavor. Maintain hope. And look at it this way: you stand a much better chance of one day getting that MC than I do of acquiring any of the Kid's Station discs. Rejoice!

And now I should stop worrying about what everyone else is thinking and doing. My time would probably be better spent playing some of those games on my shelves. You get a single guess as to the one I definitely will not be pulling from the ledges today.

NES Games That Died with Honor

We elitist, obnoxious Turbo fans have often chuckled to ourselves while listening to our SNES-adoring chums boast of how there are no other questing experiences more rewarding than a trudge through a Chrono Trigger junkyard, of how there's no more-bounteous wellspring of spine-tingling drama than a Zelda 3 block-pot puzzle, and of how a slowdown-ridden tour of The Alien Wars is the sole means by which one can arrive at the pinnacle of blast-'em-up action. But let's give our spinning-room-addled buddies a break and focus instead on their forerunners, the NES hangers-on who may not be as entertainingly discombobulated as their Snerd progeny but who are certainly just as fiery and zealous.

These are the good fellows who will to this day tell you that 16-bit machines offer nothing that features the caliber of gameplay and the level of challenge that can be found in the NES' classics (never mind that the only "challenge" usually presented by such "classics" revolved around overcoming the god-awful "gameplay"). Yes, thanks to these in-denial "old schoolers," we live in a world where Super Mario Bros. 3 is often proclaimed the "best game of all time," where detritus like Astyanax is not only considered acceptable but also occasionally called "excellent," and where Blaster Master is hilariously labeled an "underrated gem" despite the fact that it has appeared on all seven million "underrated gems" lists that have been composed since 1989. All we can do is shake our heads pityingly as these well-meaning but overly wistful veterans of the Power Pad hail their over-the-hill favorites and pine deep down for the days of clunky controls and chunky protagonists.

I feel I must note here that I, unlike the aforedescribed NES loyalists, am completely immune to the effects of nostalgia. Blissful memories of times gone by have absolutely nothing to do with my love for undeniably great Turbo games like Ys Book I & II, The Legendary Axe, and Deep Blue.

And no pangs of yearning or periods of reflection ever result in us sagacious, good-taste-possessing Turbo fans waxing nostalgic for the era of NES dominance. Those are days we'd just as well forget, as it's rather difficult for us to come up with fond recollections of material we considered crap to begin with. Certainly, there were sporadic otherworldly feats to appreciate. How Sunsoft managed to coax its Journey to Silius cartridges into producing music reminiscent of the legendary Ys Book I & II soundtrack is a mystery even the wisest pundits have yet to unravel. And while Mad Dog and Scorpion hardly could have stood toe to toe with Guy Kazama, there's no doubt that the original Contra laid some potential-heavy groundwork for brilliant then-yet-to-come run-and-guns like Hard Corps and Shattered Soldier.

But while we Turbo players were able to appreciate the all-too-rare instances that NES carts flukily or accidentally presented something of merit, we sought more than the occasional mystifying miracle and the odd workable concept. Sure, a few of the games were tolerable (if only barely) when nothing better was available, but even the majority of those were abruptly gutted and rendered obsolete by the subsequent generation's superior products. Indeed, when the slaughter finally commenced, most NES "legends" offered feeble resistance and died quick, bloody deaths.

It was a fitting fate for those pseudo heroes. But a handful of noble stalwarts put up ferocious fights until the tides of Turbo might could no longer be repelled. And those are the carts we will pay homage to today.

Note now that I offer no apologies for the, erm, underrepresentation of these games visually in this article. I have neither the time nor the desire to revisit NES junk these days... even the junk that actually could have been considered good.

In the unlikelihood that I suffer a lapse of sanity so severe that I choose to revive an NES game, chances are quite slim that my selection would be of the hack-and-batter sort. Powering up an NES action-platformer was always akin to begging for trouble, as the general shittiness of 8-bit-era leap-and-swipe controls couldn't possibly be overstated. Yet the system hosted what was truly the original king of the sub-genre, a title that actually thrived on its jump-and-lash gameplay.

~ CASTLEVANIA ~
Slain by The Legendary Axe

Castlevania caught the eye of many a player with its cast of horror-story-based bosses. Screenshots conveyed the inherent coolness of these creatures but gave little indication of their true ferocity. Scythe-tossing Death routinely massacred even those who were skilled enough to reach him with a triple-shot boomerang in hand, and the incarnation of Count Dracula featured here, a two-form fireball-hurling nightmare, stood as one of the period's stoutest final bosses. Legendary stage stretches preceded the end-level showdowns. You needed cunning and skill to survive the axemen-patrolled corridor of torture and the famous fleamen-infested clock tower. Players were treated to heavenly musical tracks while trekking through monster-laden hallways stocked with concealed treasures. But it was the surprisingly solid gameplay that enabled this pioneering champion to stand proudly alongside the greatest games of its kind.

The Turbo's own hack-and-slash mega-masterpiece, The Legendary Axe, helped itself to basic aspects of the Castlevania play system and added tighter controls and larger, far more impressive creatures to battle--creatures that weren't all painted with the NES' trademark purplish-pink hue. But one of Castlevania's early-days peers experienced better luck than it did in the area of adversary artwork and traveled a more comprehensive route with its elements of adventuring.

~ METROID ~
Slain by Shape Shifter

Perusal of the game's awesome enemy-illustration-loaded instruction manual sufficed to get plenty of players amped up for the Metroid experience. Indeed, foes like the spiny, hulking Kraid and the relentless, life-sucking Metroids themselves did not disappoint upon being encountered. Protagonist Samus Aran could acquire a variety of cool weapons with which to dispatch the formidable creatures she confronted. The helmeted heroine had to do plenty of poking around in order to find said weapons, however, as the world of Zebes was absolutely enormous; it wasn't uncommon for players to expend hours at a time simply roaming the grounds in search of new items. Some corridors couldn't even be accessed unless Samus made clever use of her weapons and abilities. Exploration runs and experimentation sessions took place amidst a tense climate largely brought about by the game's audio. Most memorable of the aural elements were the spine-chillingly eerie track that permeated Kraid's lair and the creepy, burbly sounds made by the prowling, vicious Metroids.

Despite a shocking post-last-fight twist, Metroid failed to feature the sort of drama prevalent in action-adventure descendent Shape Shifter, and as cool as its creatures were for their day, they were eventually dwarfed by next-era giants. Nonetheless, the game delivered on its promise of atmospheric adventuring, and it wasn't the only successful sci-fi-themed title the NES would see.

~ THE GUARDIAN LEGEND ~
Slain by Spriggan

An action-RPG/shooter hybrid for a system that struggled simply to achieve success in any given genre, The Guardian Legend seemed destined to flop from the get-go. Somehow, Compile managed to load it up with enough memorable melodies, interesting weapons, and impressive boss creatures that it wound up being a high-quality product. Its vertically scrolling blast-'em-up segments were surprisingly fast and extremely challenging at times--which is not to say that the strips came close to delivering the sort of chaos found in PCE Compile gems Gunhed and Spriggan, but hey, the "super-powerful" SNES was never able to pull off that level of action either. Labyrinthine subsections asked players to do little more than bust up blocks while hunting for new items and entryways, but they made for simplistic fun and contributed a degree of depth to the affair.

Not all journeys to be taken on the NES were quite as basic in nature. One adventure game in particular was stunningly ambitious.

~ ULTIMA: QUEST OF THE AVATAR ~
Slain by Anearth Fantasy Stories

Avatar kicked off with perhaps the most magnificent title-screen tune I've ever had the pleasure of listening to. The track commenced with surprisingly powerful NES-style fanfare and cycled through a number of melodious hooks before returning to its opening bursts (those wanting to hear more were delighted to discover that a gorgeous extended version ran during the end credits). The soundtrack scored another winner with the rich, hope-inspiring Bard's Song. But it was the unusual nature of the adventure itself that made the game so remarkable. Your character class was determined not by a routine series of clicks but by your responses to a soothsayer's ethics-involving queries. Whether you were adjudged a mighty fighter or a humble shepherd, you had to embark on an open-ended quest to become the paradigm of virtue. You were granted the freedom to proceed as you wished, but with that freedom came the constant temptation to cheat, steal, and kill. Avatarhood was within your reach as long as you did right by your fellow men, turned the other cheek when confronted by miscreants, and performed as many charitable deeds as you possibly could. And of course, you had to remember to rid the land of monsters while going about your do-gooder business.

That final element of monster massacring is what ultimately caused Avatar to drag at times. Experience points and gold were rendered superfluities rather early in the quest, meaning most fights were nothing more than time-consuming annoyances--annoyances that could not be fled from lest your character's valor come into question. The PCE's Anearth Fantasy Stories is similar to Avatar in that it begins with an intriguing class-determination exercise and possesses a greater number of distinctive play features than the typical adventure game, but it incorporates aspects of strategy into its battles to keep them interesting for the long haul.

While Avatar succeeded in spite of its scrum-related issues, one NES dungeon crawler actually flourished thanks to its respective combat elements.

~ SWORDS AND SERPENTS ~
Slain by Dragon Knight II

When a buddy and I sat down with S&S for the first time, we were confronted almost at once by a green, odd-looking, ghoulish fellow. This wasn't some meager couple-of-pixels sprite we're talking about here. It was a large, well-rendered, animated creature. And it busted out a switchblade.

"HEY! THOSE ARE ILLEGAL!" my law-abiding chum cried.

I cared not for the legal implications of the action; I was just blown away by the fact that it had happened at all. S&S's creatures were very cool in design and would've impressed even as static entities, but the beasts were constantly in motion, and the animation frames were not put to use merely for mundane events like the wrinkling of a brow or the waving of a sword: one sinister mage's staff actually morphed into a serpent. And it certainly didn't hurt that the music that accompanied the lively fight scenes was quite intense.

S&S fared well even outside of its skirmishes, as its mazes were loaded with neat treasures to happen upon, and up to four players could partake in the looting at once. But there's no doubt that its combat scenes were what truly made it worth checking out. Of course, as cool as its dynamic demons were, they were hardly able to hold a candle to the gorgeous girl-fiends of Dragon Knight II. And when boiled down to their essences, the battles were actually little more than button-mashing festivals. There were other NES games that took more-refined approaches to combat, among which was gaming's finest representation of pugilism.

~ MIKE TYSON'S PUNCH-OUT! ~
Slain by Asuka 120%

Memorable design-wise, talkative between rounds, and granted charmingly ridiculous names, Punch-out's caricatural pugs will forever be viewed as the most likable champions of video-game boxing. It was easy to get caught up in the delightful cartoonishness of the whole affair, to root for the small-in-stature-but-large-in-heart hero, to chuckle as his manager bestowed upon him advice riddled with not-so-subtle Nintendo endorsements, and to smile as the two of them hit the streets during Rocky-esque training sequences. But what really made Punch-out special was that it was a truly magnificent test of hand-eye coordination. You could go ahead and grin as King Hippo belched his way to defeat, as Great Tiger performed his ring-around-the-boxing-ring magic act, and as Soda Popinski drank himself into a stupor. But you couldn't expect to get by the likes of Mr. Sandman, Super Macho Man, and Iron Mike himself unless you were willing to work on your timing and develop your skills.

And if you expected much in the way of visual variety, you were setting yourself up for disappointment. As marvelously diverse as the pugilists were, character-model redundancy plagued the proceedings. For super-fast fighting action and lovably quirky combatants sans the "switch a head, swap a palette" shenanigans, PCE fans can turn to the system's own Asuka 120%. But there was one more arcade-style sports game for the NES that actually achieved excellence.

~ TECMO SUPER BOWL ~
Slain by Final Lap Twin

The original Tecmo Bowl was highly entertaining but is largely looked upon now as a mere preamble for its tremendously successful sequel. TSB retained the fast, amusingly unrealistic action of its predecessor and lopped atop the foundation of fun the entire lineup of at-that-time NFL teams along with their respective rosters and the 1991 league slate. As players delightedly romped through seasons full of utterly ridiculous and insanely enjoyable 70-56 shootouts, the game kept track of an assortment of stats and provided league leader boards for perusal. With the foreknowledge that some would desire a touch of fanciness amid the stat-gazing and touchdown-trading, Tecmo put together lots of brief cinematic sequences to depict important plays and significant events. They didn't skimp when it came to minor graphical elements either: defenders would huff and puff in efforts to catch their breath after an opposing player would dash through their ranks for a score.

Of course, the TG-16 has its own quality sports games that deliver unexpected extras. Final Lap Twin, for instance, offers a full-fledged RPG mode in addition to standard driving competitions. To give some scant credit where some scant credit is due, though, I must note that the NES hosted a great action-adventure game that itself blended a number of styles.

~ ZELDA II: THE ADVENTURE OF LINK ~
Slain by Blood Gear

Zelda II took on elements typical to traditional-style RPGs (overhead-view overworld exploration, an experience-point-based strengthening system) and merged them with sidescrolling hack-and-slash scenes to produce an interesting and ultimately successful mixture of genre-specific components. Those who had an easy time traipsing to victory in The Legend of Zelda were in for quite a surprise here. The Adventure of Link was a true ball-buster; its enemies, especially the armor-clad Ironknuckles and blade-tossing Bird Knights, were sturdy and relentless. They also often employed chicanery to get the best of you: statues would suddenly come to life and gigantic blobs would drop down from ceilings unexpectedly. Fortunately, Link had developed his sword-wielding skills while on sabbatical, and he was capable here of performing such useful maneuvers as a downward blade thrust. There was room for players to utilize wit and resourcefulness in circumventing challenges (were you at a locked door and out of keys, you could simply transform into a fairy and fly through the keyhole). The labyrinthine palaces were memorable for their haunting music; their devious layouts; and the cool bosses they housed, the coolest of which was Link's shadow come to life (though even that one would hardly stand a chance if pitted against the mechanical heavyweights featured in the PCE's similar-in-play-style Blood Gear).

The Legend of Zelda was quite good in its own right and stood unchallenged for eons as the system's premier adventure game. Then SNK came out of nowhere and unleashed an action-RPG masterpiece of their own that seemed poised to give the old champion a good walloping.

~ CRYSTALIS ~
Slain by Ys Book I & II

Crystalis reminded many of the original Zelda with its overhead-view action and focus on maze traversing, but it was superior to its antecedent mechanically, as its hero was speedy and adroit and able to pull off techniques beyond the capabilities of slow-footed Link. The game boasted its own memorable overworld theme and presented players with tasks and puzzles far more interesting than Zelda's "push a block/bomb a wall/burn a tree"-based conundrums. Hitching a ride on a dolphin was a great deal more enjoyable than taking a brief straight-line rafting trip, and the list of diverse incantations the protagonist was capable of casting easily trumped Zelda's one-trick spell book. Also noteworthy was the plot SNK came up with, which went well beyond the usual save-the-princess fare.

Of course, Crystalis had little time to pat itself on the back for boldly butting heads with a classic. It was abruptly mauled by 16-bit adventure games that were able to match it mechanically and provide plot points far more stirring and memorable than its own. Its eventual competition aside, it was ultimately rather irritating, as it forced players to hike through redundant maze stretches, deal with annoying aerial enemies, and switch weapons every few seconds. Still, it's worth remembering and commending for the ways it made adventurers use their noggins to proceed. And it wasn't the only NES game that presented interesting puzzles.

~ SHADOWGATE ~
Slain by Mami Inoue

Shadowgate certainly wasn't short on good brainteasers to tax players' minds with, but what really made it so very memorable was its uncanny ability to establish certain effective climates and then successfully diverge from them based on the particular demands of given scenes. It owed its atmospheric flexibility to its incredible soundtrack, which shifted effortlessly from remarkably eerie numbers to exciting themes of adventure. The fact that Castle Shadowgate housed a number of interesting (and often highly dangerous) creatures, including a riddle-posing sphinx and a fang-bearing hellhound, contributed to the journey's general airs of unease and suspense. And as you might expect in a game loaded with tricky puzzles and fearsome beasts, there were numerous ways for your character's quest to come to a rather gruesome end.

The game itself hardly suffered an ignoble fate. It convincingly battered its own Turbo CD successor and, in truth, made mincemeat of all the PCE's point-and-click-based adventures. In fact, some say it still lives on today...

I suppose all of these games live on in a fashion. Honor them as you would a cracked Super CD or a busted TurboChip. That's not to say you should actually play them, of course; let's not get crazy here. In fact, if you really want to be blown away by something from the NES era, you'll have to haul the Sega Master System out of its dusty tomb and play the incredible Phantasy Star. Heck, do that right now and leave this NES stuff where it belongs: in the past.

Awesome Stuff... in Not-So-Awesome Games

I couldn't understand the allure of the Genesis back in the system's heyday. I seemed to have a propensity to acquire cartridges for it that were anything but console defining. While my Genesis-endorsing friends were getting their vertical-shooting fix via Compile's frenetic M.U.S.H.A., I was chugging along through Namco's slow-paced Phelios.

"What do people see in this machine?" I howled in bewilderment.

Phelios, of course, was hardly the sort of game that would make one realize the virtues of the system that hosts it. Its creators would have us believe they were effectively utilizing the mythological premise they selected for the title by employing the likes of a chubby fire phantom and an insect-like Cerberus. Players must eliminate such hardy creatures of legend via a play system that relies far too heavily on charge-shots; more time is spent filling a meter than doing away with demons. The hero's adversaries typically come traipsing along in neat rows and columns (seldom have I seen such a tidily arranged legion of fiends), seemingly setting themselves up for charge-shot-induced demises. The realms they so stringently patrol are largely drab and desolate.

There's little to inspire one to play the game once its enumerated-above faults become evident. But for an all-too-brief stretch, Phelios actually rises to the ranks of the incredible.

Via onscreen text that materializes during the opening phase of its third level, the game alerts those who are understandably unprepared for a transition into quality play that danger is on the way in the form of approaching griffin knights. A moment later, the warned-of blade-bearing evildoers soar into view and attempt to spear the suddenly under-siege protagonist.

The field scrolls along breezily while boasting bright visual work and impressive multilayer scrolling, but the action itself is the most commendable element of the sequence. The cutthroat chasers are relentless and erratic in their aerial pursuit of the hero, who must wend his way through claustrophobically narrow airways as he desperately tries to evade and outwit his assailants. Through fancy flying he can bait the surging attackers into slamming headfirst into the tubular walls of the speed course.

It's an extremely atypical, exciting, nice-looking segment of a shooter that at few other points can appropriately be described with such modifiers. And it made me wonder what other games are out there that shine in particular ways while coming nowhere close to inspiring awe with any other components of their makeups. Specifically, I sought instances of wondrousness in Turbo titles that travel unremarkable paths in almost every respect, concealed exemplifications of sheen and utter competency amid proceedings defined by dullness and inadequacy.

Indeed, the Turbo annals house a fair few idiot savants, rain men that boast on-their-own elements of excellence while bumbling along through otherwise non-notable existences. To be sure, not all of the titles to be discussed here are horrid; some are delightfully mediocre. But none excel generally or consistently. Each does, however, achieve a startling level of success in some manner--be it via an aesthetic merit, an inspired stretch of action, or some other remarkable aspect of its composition.

Note that this is not intended to be a mere exercise in identification. There is a tributary aspect to this piece, as part of what makes these instances of ingeniousness so interesting to me is the human element. Whether these are cases where a group of designers got their act together for a fleeting moment of glory or where a particularly talented individual contributed high-caliber work to a project crippled by the ineptitude of his cohorts, someone or some people deserve recognition for long-obscured brilliance. And as I am certain that every designer who ever had a hand in the making of a PC Engine game checks this site regularly and with great zeal, I am all too happy to give the heroes in question the credit they so richly deserve, to acknowledge their commendation-worthy contributions sans context along the lines of "What a shame that everything else in this game is so putrid." At least for a time, let's admire these displays of proficiency rather than lamenting their fates as aspects of generally abhorrent or lusterless products.

If you're game, we'll now commence our look at outstanding fare housed in unexceptional shells.

~ BASTED'S CINEMAS ~

While Basted can be viewed as an action-RPG, it really doesn't strive to be much of one. Rarely does it require players to partake in combat, navigate mazes, or step beyond the walls of a town they find themselves exploring a mere five minutes in. What it does do is present one incredible full-screen-occupying intermediary scene after another.

Stellar artwork is augmented by well-implemented and uncommonly utilized effects, making these sequences extremely impressive in a technical sense. But the true sign of their quality is their effectiveness in relaying the tale the game wishes to tell, one that involves significant shares of comedy, action, tragedy, and drama.

~ VALIS II'S MUSIC ~

There is only a single screen you need to visit in order to make optimal use of your Valis II disc:

V2 is a short, unspectacular hack-and-shoot game that is quite easy to tear through despite the clunkiness of its controls. Its soundtrack, however, is something special. The inspirational fanfare of the title-screen theme gives way to the beautiful piano-dominated phrases of the bittersweet first-stage tune. Later, an ominous number grants intensity to an obstacle course devoid of the sorts of challenges that could create extreme excitement on their own. Most memorable of all is the third-level tune, which commences with a burst of brightness and proceeds to induce nostalgia with its unabashedly treacly melodies.

~ DRAGON SPIRIT'S ICE LEVEL ~

Ploddingly slow and horribly ugly, Dragon Spirit wouldn't be worth a second of anyone's time were it not for a single level during which it somehow rises up and becomes worthwhile. The frosty sixth stage is actually rather pretty and boasts action a step above the simplistic slowness to be experienced throughout the rest of the unremarkable adventure.

The highly overrated soundtrack, which contains a host of forgettable numbers, bestows upon the board a tune actually worthy of adoration. Long, winding, and immediately catchy, the gorgeous track effectively injects emotion into what's a rather austere affair in general.

~ TV SPORTS FOOTBALL'S FIELD-GOAL KICKING ~

TV Sports Football comes off as a waste on both sides of the ball. It burdens players with a mess of an offensive system that renders running useless and passing an exercise in arm-directing absurdity, while its computer-controlled clubs are so lacking in sense that the choices one makes on defense wind up being inconsequential. As a youngster who had just expended a sizable pile of long-saved-up cash on the chip, I was highly distraught upon discovering its inadequacies. But I managed to find refuge in its field-goal-kicking system.

The close-up visuals are quite nice, but what truly makes TVSF kicking so cool is the manner in which it's handled. Taking the angle and distance of the attempt into account, you must decide exactly where you want your kicker to strike the ball and have the skill pull your plan off via a crosshairs-based system. Some of the kicks you can try are quite hard to make, and seeing the ball sail through the uprights as your kicker raises his arms in triumph brings about no small sense of jubilation.

~ BATTLE ROYALE'S CAST ~

There isn't much to the actual battling in Battle Royale: some slaps and kicks and an over-the-ropes toss constitute the respective skill sets of the featured fighters. Still, players just can't help but pick a favorite from the crew of likable-if-limited brawlers. BR's misfit wrestlers showboat and guffaw and romp around the ring--and never fail to earn themselves fans with their antics.

Just as wacky as the frenzied fighters are their odd-looking managers, who emit fearless boasts and laugh-evoking threats--when they're not participating in behind-the-scenes rumbles of their own.

~ FANG OF ALNAM'S BATTLE SYSTEM ~

Alnam's scrums seem to be of the typical overhead-view, turn-based type at first glance.

But the simplistic superficial aspects of the scenes belie the depth of the system at work. The heroes and heroines can do their damage by casting devastating magic spells, transforming into beasts and launching suitably fierce attacks, or collaborating with allies to perform unique tag-team maneuvers. Whatever your preferred method of assault, actions are carried out quite quickly, yet none of the fights unfold in helter-skelter fashion; strategy plays a role as "move points" (which each technique costs varying amounts of) are limited. And while extra incentive for participating in the enjoyable skirmishes is hardly necessary, money is paid at in-town cash houses for the sheer amount of slaughter committed by your party members.

~ LADY SWORD'S ENEMY DESIGNS ~

Lady Sword is a straightforward-to-a-fault dungeon crawler that attempts to entice the easily titillated by exhibiting digitized tits. This is rather paltry incentive, as there are far-better settings for sneaking glimpses of breasts--real life, for instance. Games Express would've displayed prudence by focusing instead on the incredibly vast variety of adversaries LS places in the paths of its players.

I couldn't believe how many different types of creatures I'd run into during a mere initial run through the dungeon's foyer. And these are no nondescript nuisances we're speaking of; rock-hewn behemoths, amazonian warriors, and bloody severed heads are among the fierce folk who'll make your acquaintance.

~ BALLISTIX'S REF ~

Ballistix takes the grand old game of air hockey, places it in a futuristic setting, and completely bollixes it up. While the chaotic nature of the gameplay would likely nullify any conceivable bolstering of the affair's aesthetic components, one still wishes that the game weren't so utilitarian in approach. The marvelously gruesome master of ceremonies is employed merely to announce the commencement of each match.

With a distinctly alien air about him, he would seem a more suitable villain for a Contra episode than a knock-hockey-based debacle.

~ LAST ARMAGEDDON'S MONSTER-EVOLUTION SYSTEM ~

It's pretty neat that Last Armageddon gives players three alternating groups of monsters to play with as opposed to the usual RPG fighter-wizard-archer-tokenchick crew. The irritating battles, broken play system, and sprawling-yet-devoid-of-anything-interesting labyrinths initially offset the positives of the premise, but persistent players eventually get to strengthen their beasts in a fascinating way--by having them take on certain characteristics of other monster breeds, creating mighty new hybrid creatures in the process.

It's always fun to acquire awesome abilities via this innovative methodology, but most of the enjoyment to be derived from the process lies simply in seeing what the resulting abominations look like.

~ ASTRALIUS' SHARK LEVEL ~

This is the most incredible, most astounding, least likely example of the "isolated amazing stuff" phenomenon I have ever come across. Astralius, a terribly painful-to-play atrocity of an RPG, becomes absolutely awesome for a single stretch of island hopping. The concept at work is unique and somehow rather adorable: friendly sharks poke their heads above water to create bridges for the party to travel over.

While most of the enemies you encounter during your quest are unapologetically brutal, the foes you face while galloping from one great white to another are worthy but fair-fighting challengers. And while most triumphs in battle land you criminally little reward, reasonable shares of experience points and cash are divvied out here. And while the soundtrack for the most part is a horrid mass of audible awfulness, the shark theme is so ridiculously catchy as to be absolutely unforgettable. It all adds up to a wonderfully fun jaunt in the middle of a journey during which almost every single step is accompanied by unimaginable pain.

Of course, mere instances of ingenuity typically don't suffice to offset such pain. And I suppose the time to pay homage must now come to an end, as it would only be natural for people previously unacquainted with these games to wonder if the cited examples of far-beneath-the-surface brilliance make their respective titles worth purchasing. Certainly, there are caveats involved with each and every covered case. The brutality with which Last Armageddon and Astralius treat those who set foot in their realms ensures that very few players will ever come to realize their merits. Basted's cinemas should be witnessed by all, but the disc can seldom be acquired on the cheap. And it's hard to imagine anyone at this point holing themselves up to indulge in lengthy TV Sports Football Practice-mode sessions--regardless of how inexpensive the TurboChip may be.

Then again, Dragon Spirit certainly has its fans, folks who would argue passionately against my claims that it sports a sputtering soundtrack and delivers uninspired action. Battle Royale has been known to be the focal point of many a five-player get-together. And I must play spoilsport in my own article by pointing out that Valis II actually tells a rather interesting and moving tale.

Yes, more than one positive may be detected in these titles. And of course, some may perceive virtues in a given clunker where others see only the least desirable of traits. It can be interesting and worthwhile to discuss unearthed bits of gloriousness, to see where people find beauty in products largely considered meritless. There's something poignant in the notion of a back-alley programmer/composer/artist striking gold while working on a project ultimately treated by the masses with disgust or indifference, hitting upon something at some point that would wind up meaning a lot to someone out there. And it's impossible to say when and where the winning ingredient will find its way to the player who will appreciate it.

Some folks have actually emerged from the woodwork to claim that Phelios has more than one good thing going for it.

And they just might be right.