Super Castlevania IV (Super Nintendo)

Halloween season, we hardly knew ye! No regrets, though, as I’ve been making the most of it. I even resurrected my Captain N Simon Belmont cosplay for the first Portland Retro Gaming Expo since 2019. Keeping with the spirit of Konami’s legendary vampire slayer, it’s only fitting that I close out the month with a look at what may well be his most beloved adventure. 1991’s Super Castlevania IV has been a staple of top ten SNES game lists for decades. Among fans of the series specifically, it’s not unusual to see this 16-bit re-imagining of the original 1986 Castlevania touted as the greatest pure 2-D action outing of them all due to its fluid movement, stirring soundtrack, and the sublimely eerie atmosphere permeating each of its eleven long stages.

In recent years, however, there’s been a surprising amount of critical pushback against this once unassailable action-platformer. In particular, the extreme versatility of SCIV’s signature eight-way whipping mechanic has been singled-out for its supposedly deleterious effect on combat. In short, the argument is that being able to whip in any direction trivializes sub-weapons such as the axe and holy water, which traditionally existed mainly to allow Simon the ability to attack from angles other than the horizontal plane his whip was locked to. Factor in Simon’s 50% greater size relative to his NES era appearances and the corresponding 50% increase in whip reach, and the case can be made that a good deal of nuance was lost, replaced with a simplified “when a problem comes along, you must whip it” play style that’s less demanding and, debatably, less rewarding.

As someone who’s been playing this one fairly regularly since its release, I now find myself in the awkward position of agreeing with everyone! Yes, eight-way whipping drains much of the strategy and challenge out of Simon’s nocturnal crusade against the minions of Dracula. With sub-weapon choice reduced to an afterthought, it can verge on the downright brain dead at times as you walk and whip, walk and whip, walk and whip. This isn’t helped by the designers’ odd insistence on placing enemies in spots where you can hit them, but they can’t retaliate. The poor fireball-spitting bone pillars suffer the most from this. These guys really only work when you’re forced to confront them head-on in their line of fire, yet here they’re consistently placed so that you’ll approach them from above or below. I’d rather fight like a hero than a bully, thanks. The journey feels a tad overlong to me, too, with the first third or so being especially slow going. The intensity does ramp up some once you reach the Count’s castle proper in level four, thankfully.

You might think this would collectively be enough to sour me on the entire experience. I have gone out of my way to praise the breakneck pace and brutal nature of titles like Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse, after all. If so, think again. In spite of its very real shortcomings, I positively adore Super Castlevania IV. It’s quite frankly spellbinding; one of those games that oozes creativity and quality from every digital pore. It has its hooks in you from the instant lightning shatters Dracula’s gravestone in the introduction. The bright hues that dominated previous entries (as well as many of the later ones) have been replaced by a gloomy Gothic landscape that meshes seamlessly with Masanori Adachi and Taro Kudo’s remarkably diverse compositions. Rearranged versions of some classic rocking chiptunes from the NES trilogy are present, but here they’re accompanied by excursions into chamber music and, believe it or not, jazz. Mind you, this was around six years before Michiru Yamane brought similar influences to her celebrated Symphony of the Night score.

Now that I think about it, Symphony is an apt point of comparison in more ways than one. For my money, SCIV shares almost as much in common with it as it does with the 1986 game it’s ostensibly based on. In both, power fantasy is the order of the day. Similar to pretty boy dhampir Alucard, the odds are obviously stacked in Super Simon’s favor, meaning that the focus is more on steamrolling the forces of evil as a godly horror-themed superhero than struggling to survive in a harsh world where every puny bat and skeleton stands a serious chance of doing you in if you’re not careful. Although this isn’t my own ideal approach to the material, I won’t deny that it can be a blast when paired with the top-notch audiovisual pizazz Konami was renowned for in its prime. Besides, it’s not as if Super Castlevania IV is completely devoid of challenge. The platforming in the last few stages can get hairy, and I find that I lose more lives to random mistimed jumps in this game than I do to anything in, say, Rondo of Blood. This bloodsucker has fangs, even if it is slow in baring them.

So no, Super Castlevania IV isn’t my favorite in the storied franchise. It’s far from the tensionless snoozefest its more hyperbolic detractors have pegged it as, however. Smooth, responsive action spanning lush and varied locales, all set to some of the grandest tunes ever to grace the platform? I can’t think of many better ways to get your spooky gaming fix. Much like Capcom’s Mega Man, the Castlevania lineage as a whole is an embarrassment of riches with few genuinely weak installments to its name. It’s unlikely I’ll be able to last all the way to next Halloween without firing this one up again.

Until next time, boy and ghouls, may your whips always strike true, no matter which way you prefer to crack them.

Haunting Starring Polterguy (Genesis)

Battling monsters is all well and good. Every once in a while, though, don’t you get to wondering how the other half lives?

Well, “lives” is putting it rather generously in the case of Polterguy. He was once an everyday radically bodacious (or is that bodaciously radical?) ’90s skateboarder dude in the Bart Simpson tradition. Until he had a fatal accident involving a cheaply-made board produced by corrupt businessman Vito Sardini, that is. Now, he’s a gnarly ghost out for revenge on the entire Sardini family: Vito, his wife Flo, and their kids, Mimi and Tony. Our Polterguy’s no villain, however. Perish the thought! He doesn’t want to murder the Sardini clan, just shatter their sanity with hellish visions of death and dismemberment until they run screaming from their home. Good guy stuff all the way!

With a setup this strange, it should come as no surprise that 1993’s Haunting Starring Polterguy is one tough game to pin down. It was made by Electronic Arts, back when they were scrappy up-and-comers with an artists-first mentality and a flair for experimentation. Yes, really. Time makes evil megacorps of us all, it seems. Anyway, since “spook-’em-ups” never exactly caught on, Haunting is effectively a genre unto itself on the Genesis.

The primary gameplay mode is an isometric view of the Sardini abode. You’re free to guide Polterguy between rooms as desired in search of humans to torment. A handy map on the pause screen displays the entire mansion layout, as well as each family member’s current location. It’s recommended to rely on the map rather than wander aimlessly, as all of Polterguy’s powers are tied to his green ectoplasm meter, which depletes automatically over time. Once Polterguy is in the same room as a Sardini, he can start setting up scares. This is accomplished by moving close to various household objects and noting which ones have a colored icon associated with them. Activating these designated items (called “fright’-ems” in the manual) will consume a small amount of ectoplasm and result in a startling animation that will terrify any hapless Sardini witnessing it. Doing this multiple times in quick succession will raise their fear level all the way from Calm to Very High, at which point they’ll flee the room, leaving puddles of bonus ectoplasm behind. Should Polterguy give chase and continue the spectral harassment, the victim will eventually flee the building altogether. The level is considered complete when all four Sardinis have exited the building. Later homes add slight complications in the form of rare ectoplasm stealing beasts and the family dog, who can simultaneously drain Polterguy’s meter and calm nearby humans down with his barking.  

You’re probably wondering what happens when Polterguy’s supply of ectoplasm runs out. Nothing good, unfortunately, for him or for you. The pugnacious poltergeist is instantly transported to an underworld dungeon. Here, he must collect drops of ectoplasm raining down from the ceiling and avoid hazards (bats, bouncing skulls, disembodied arms, steam vents, and sinkholes) until an exit back to the living world is revealed. Those five aren’t examples of the dangers found in the underworld, either. They’re the complete list. These underworld segments are the nadir of Haunting; a real drag all-around. Polterguy controls like he’s on roller skates and the collision detection is spotty at best. These aren’t problems when he’s topside, as nothing up there can hurt him. The underworld is another story. If he runs out of energy down there, he’s double-super-dead and the game is over. No extra lives, no continues.

This dichotomy makes Haunting a game with a treacherous split personality. The proper haunting stuff, where you’re frightening the figurative and literal piss out of the Sardinis in grand Beetlejuice bio-exorcist fashion, is a hoot. There are supposedly over 400 unique scare animations included, and these range from the relatively tame (objects moving around on their own, flying skulls, exploding candles) to the downright crazy (a turd-flinging toilet demon, a disemboweled naked woman, a corpse being lowered into a meat grinder). I played for hours and I’m confident I didn’t see half of them. The gore is pretty extreme for the time, and EA was likely only able to get away with the 13+ age rating due to the overall slapstick tone and the fact that none of it is real in the context of the game world. That’s on top of the unexpected sleaze component, exemplified by the lovingly rendered pantie shots of Flo Sardini that make up a regular part of her scare animations. Polterguy himself even takes time out to comment on these, proving that one can be both spooky and creepy at the same time.

One minute you’re savoring all this lurid wackiness and the very next Haunting decides that it’s time to spoil it all by becoming an action game again. I understand that EA probably wanted to offer a bit of variety and implement some sort of fail state to add tension. Too bad the sloppy, repetitive, and frankly aggravating underworld segments were anything but a satisfying way to go about it. The most tragic part is that they’re a picnic compared to the boss fight at the end of the fourth and final mansion. It is, without exaggeration, one of the worst I’ve ever endured. Expecting you to attack a series of small, constantly advancing targets with a clumsy arcing projectile that requires you to be almost the full screen’s distance away from whatever you’re aiming at? I can’t begin to fathom the thought process behind such a design choice. It’s simply dreadful. Getting a game over on this encounter felt so distasteful that I was sorely tempted not to try again.

Now for the true test: Can I recommend Haunting Starring Polterguy? On balance, yes. The lion’s share of its development time clearly went into meticulously crafting the hundreds of creative scares Polterguy can call down to wreak vengeance on the hated Sardinis, and these rarely disappoint. As a sandbox haunting simulator, it’s all but guaranteed to produce a steady stream of laughs. You’ll have to slog through some truly dire action segments if you hope to see it all the way through, but you can still get a taste of the best Haunting has to offer without that degree of commitment. Perhaps a more polished debut would have allowed the green ghoul with attitude that sequel he teased at the end. Oh, well. Leave it to low sales to finish the job a faulty skateboard couldn’t.

Horror Story (PC Engine)

Ready to ride the spooky train to Obscure Town? NEC Avenue’s 1993 PC Engine CD-ROM port of Toaplan’s arcade run-and-gun Horror Story is about as unknown as it gets in these parts. It was destined to remain a Japanese exclusive, since the PC Engine’s ill-fated North American equivalent, the TurboGrafx-16, was on its last legs circa 1993. The 1989 coin-op original, on the other hand, was supposedly released here under the name Demon’s World, although I’ve never seen a cabinet and I’ve logged eons of arcade time in my day. To the extent the game is known at all these days, it’s primarily for being the sole entry in the genre by the shooter specialists at Toaplan. That, and definitely not being based on Ghostbusters. Not even a little!

Okay, so men donning jumpsuits and ray gun backpacks to take on a hoard of cartoon specters may seem slightly familiar in a technically not copyright infringing sort of way. For my money, though, Toaplan took its most substantial cues not from the movies, but from their industry rivals. Horror Story blends design elements characteristic of run-and-guns and auto-scrolling shooters in a way that closely resembles Data East’s Atomic Runner Chelnov, which debuted in 1988. In both games, the screen scrolls automatically throughout, forcing your hero (or heroes in Horror Story’s two-player simultaneous mode) to keep moving and confront every stage obstacle and enemy formation in its set time. Even more Chelnov-esque is the ability to bounce off the heads of enemies Mario style to avoid ground hazards and access higher platforms. Alas, this shared DNA isn’t quite enough to make the PC Engine Horror Story an experience on par with Atomic Runner’s definitive Genesis edition.

I’ll start with the positives: The team behind Horror Story clearly had loads of fun with the enemies. The ghoulish menagerie they’ve assembled showcases a wide range of creatures from Eastern and Western lore. You’d normally expect a game that opens with levels based on China and Japan to focus exclusively on jiāngshī (hopping vampires), yōkai, and the like. Yet it’s not long before Lugosi vampires and Karloff monsters join the fray, along with hockey mask slashers, a skeleton cowboy, and so many more. While there is some repetition toward the end, most of the seven long stages feature multiple unique baddies apiece. They’re invested with considerable whimsy, as well. I’m especially fond of the jiāngshī riding bikes and the miniature (kid?) vampires, who are always encountered napping and don’t wake up until you shoot them.

I also appreciate how free the game is with its power-ups. The opportunity to switch between any of the five shot types is almost always available, thanks to capsules that slowly drift across the top of the screen and cycle between the various weapon icons. These are so common as to be virtually omnipresent, so if you don’t fancy your current gun, just wait a second. A lot of the strategy involves equipping the correct weapon to deal with whatever challenge is coming up next. For example, you might want to grab the fast, low damage three-way shot to down a flock of weak flying monsters, then trade it out for the slow, devastating bomb when it’s almost time to demolish a tough boss. You don’t lose your current gun when you die, either, so that’s one less hassle to worry about. Apart from these five weapons, the only other power-up is a shield that changes the color of your not-Ghostbuster outfit and enables you to absorb a single hit without dying. Obtaining this shield requires you to collect three of the P icons that drop randomly from defeated enemies.

One final plus for me is the double jump. This isn’t a common feature in run-and-guns and it gives you a great deal of flexibility in terms of how you negotiate the terrain. The second jump is much higher than the first, allowing you to ascend almost to the very top of the screen when timed properly. Combine it with the aforementioned ability to use enemies as makeshift trampolines and the platforming can get pretty wild.

What ultimately brings Horror Story down several notches for me is the one-two punch of mediocre presentation and overly rigid gameplay. Even back in 1989, this one wasn’t much to look at. The PC Engine update follows suit, as the lone new flourish is a CD audio arrangement of the rather average soundtrack. Backgrounds in particular are drab, with an overreliance on solid colors. It’s a real shame, as all that charming sprite work I praised before deserves to be paired with equally lush surroundings. This was the same year Akumajō Dracula X: Chi no Rondo (aka Castlevania: Rondo of Blood) came out, after all. Whether you think that precise comparison is fair or not, the fact remains that Horror Story’s visuals pale next to many, perhaps most, other contemporary PCE CD releases.

The bigger issue, however, is the strict routing required to clear the later levels. Since you have no control over the scrolling, you’re essentially navigating a series of choreographed gauntlets. As the difficulty ratchets up, it increasingly comes to resemble a brutal memorization-heavy spaceship shooter in the R-Type mold, as opposed to, say, Contra. You need to be positioning yourself in just the right spots at just the right times to squeak by. The unlimited continues are a godsend in this regard, but they weren’t enough to make the process of slowly grinding my way through the final stretch much fun. I suppose I prefer more room for spontaneity and player expression in my run-and-guns. The last act of Horror Story is one harsh taskmaster and fully expects you to play its way or suffer the consequences.

Horror Story for PC Engine is a fundamentally accurate rendition of a middling, largely forgotten arcade title. Still, you shouldn’t necessarily let that stop you from giving it a try. Toaplan was a talented outfit, even when working outside their wheelhouse. Horror Story controls well, incorporates some clever action set pieces (such as the balloon riding in stage two), and provides ample weapon and enemy variety. Best of all, it has the Halloween spirit in spades. Who ya gonna call? Uh . . . these guys! Yeah, I couldn’t actually find their names anywhere. Sorry.

Monster in My Pocket (NES)

Monster? In my pocket? It’s more likely than you think!

If you were the Matchbox toy company circa 1992 and looking to commission a cash-in video game to compliment your popular line of tiny plastic monster figures, you couldn’t have chosen a better partner than Konami. Their landmark Castlevania was responsible for putting spooky 8-bit action on the map six years prior, after all. Taking oodles of famous things that go bump in the night and mashing them up into one killer side-scroller was precisely their specialty.

That said, kindly allow me to calibrate your expectations right off the bat: The NES Monster in My Pocket adaptation that emerged from this deal is no Castlevania. Not even close. Seeing as this was peak era Konami, however, they maintained enough in the way of standards to deliver something attractive and playable, if not brilliant.

For all you. . .uh. . .whatever they call hardcore MiMP fans out there (Pocketheads?), the game’s bare bones story seems to follow the lead of the four-issue comic book series from 1991. This means that the various creatures depicted really are supposed to be an inch or two tall, the result of a spell cast by head villain Warlock. Your six-stage journey kicks off when Warlock suddenly appears on-screen while the Vampire and (Frankenstein’s) Monster are watching tv and declares, “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! I sent out my henchmen while you were watching tv!” Whenever I question if I have any business writing, I remind myself that people got paid for dialog like that.

With that scintillating conversation wrapped up, it’s time to pick your character. No need to agonize too much. Vampire and Monster play exactly alike. One nice surprise is that two can play simultaneously. This feature is rare among action-platformers on the system, so definitely give MiMP a look if it’s something you appreciated in Capcom’s Rescue Rangers or Natsume’s Shadow of the Ninja.

Once you’re underway, you’ll find that there isn’t a ton to unpack mechanically. Running, jumping, punching, and keeping an eye out for items to refill your five-hit health bar are the order of the day. The most significant skill to master by far is the double jump. It’s activated the way you’d expect, by tapping jump again at the height of your initial leap. You can squeak by without it initially, but it’s required to survive specific boss fights and instant death pits later on. Aside from that, there is one last highly situational move available to you. A couple levels have objects like keys and bolts laying around that can be picked up and tossed at enemies. These fly in an arc and can potentially be re-collected and used multiple times, although they will vanish the instant they leave the screen.

You’re limited to three continues in MiMP. Regardless, the short levels, frequent health pickups, and ability to begin a new life instantly on the same spot you died all combine to keep it on the easy side overall. I was able to clear it for the first time in under two hours, with the lone hiccup being the last minute difficulty spike that is the pre-Warlock boss rush. I’m sure a very gifted player could have managed it even quicker. Considering the target audience for the toys, I reckon this was the right call.

If Monster in My Pocket can be said to possess an ace in the hole beyond two-player co-op and the appeal of the license itself, it has to be its characteristically slick Konami presentation. Despite the fact that they’re all supposed to be pocket-size, the various sprites tend to be larger and more detailed than average for the NES. While this no doubt ensured that the kids at home could recognize all their favorites, it does have the unfortunate side effect of producing loads of sprite flicker. Quite distracting in the midst of a multi-monster brawl.

Backgrounds fare better for me, as they lean into the “little monster, big world” concept in a way that’s again reminiscent of Rescue Rangers. Platforming across seemingly humongous radios and teacups in a suburban home or scaling a construction site’s mountainous chain link fence make for cute cosmetic twists on otherwise rote level design. Instead of bouncing boulders to dodge, you have golf balls! Pity the final stage reverts to a generic cave aesthetic that does nothing at all to highlight the vast scale difference between the characters and their environment. If you only saw this final area, you might not make the connection at all.

Above all, I have to hand it to Hiroshi Takeyasu and Kozo Nakamura for contributing one hell of a catchy score. Many of the chiptunes here have that bouncy, funky tone that I associate with Nakamura’s work on many of Konami’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles projects. It does know when to buckle down and get fierce, though. My pick for soundtrack MVP goes to the tense, jittery, and oddly melodic “Earthquake.”

When it comes down to it, there’s no mistaking Monster in My Pocket for a labor of love. No, it’s mercenary through-and-through, as evidenced by the huge product logo that occupies the space where a second player’s health bar would otherwise be. It’s short, basic, and the decision to end on a recycled boss rush is textbook padding. Yet for all that, it’s unmistakably classic Konami under the hood. Tight controls, co-op functionality, and top-notch audiovisuals should never be taken for granted. Plus, the mere act of cramming as many public domain terrors as possible into one game fosters a goofy Monster Mash vibe that’s especially welcome this time of year. And if I find it worthy, you Pocketheads will be over the moon.

Deadeus (Game Boy)

October is back! How excited am I? Well, I’m currently sitting next to my lit jack-‘o-lantern, sipping a pumpkin crème tea blend in my pumpkin pajamas. This isn’t just a month for me, folks, it’s an entire state of being. In keeping with the tradition around here, I’ll be bringing you another set of five spooky game reviews for five classic consoles, starting this week with Deadeus.

This 2019 Game Boy homebrew title is the brainchild of Welsh artist Adam Birch, better known online as -IZMA-, and also features music by Stuart Busby. Promotional material for Deadeus bills it as “authentic horror,” an enticing promise indeed. Nintendo’s iconic handheld was famous for many things, but scaring you wasn’t one of them. Unless you were keeping tabs on your AA battery expenditures, I suppose.

Long-time readers may note that this is my first time covering a true homebrew release. I’ve looked at several ROM hacks before, fan-made games built on the foundation of popular releases like Castlevania or Super Mario Bros. 3. Deadeus, by contrast, was created from the ground up with a programming tool called GB Studio. Befitting this origin, it plays like nothing else on the system. Broadly speaking, it’s an adventure game. You assume the role of an average small town kid who awakens one morning from a nightmare in which a hideous being claiming to be a god promises to destroy the world in three day’s time. Not long after, it’s revealed that your school friends all experienced the exact same dream. Adults are initially dismissive, yet an aura of secrecy and unease shrouds the village. Something is obviously amiss. Who (or what) is Deadeus, and can anything be done to stave off the coming apocalypse?

The three day structure obviously recalls The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask. I don’t believe that’s a coincidence, although direct comparisons will only get you so far. For one thing, there’s no way to “turn back the clock” in Deadeus, other than to reload your latest save file or start a fresh one from scratch. Secondly, there’s no actual timer ticking away as you go about your investigation. Each day lasts until you choose to end it by returning home and climbing into bed. The main similarity lies in the way that solving the game’s riddles depends largely on you memorizing NPC schedules, since many key items and events are tied to the villagers’ locations and actions on specific days. Regardless of the path you take, you’ll typically reach one of the eleven possible endings in well under an hour. The Groundhog Day dynamic that manifests across multiple playthroughs was sufficient to keep me playing long enough to see them all. Around three solid hours, all told.

Deadeus is almost exclusively a story-driven affair. Mechanically, it may be easier to define it in terms of what it doesn’t include than what it does. There’s no combat of any kind, no stats or character progression, and exploration is limited by the extremely compact design of the town itself. It thus falls on the unnerving atmosphere and unorthodox narrative to carry the entire production. Fortunately, they’re more than up to the task. -IZMA- struck green and grey gold in the juxtaposition of sprites and environments that wouldn’t look out of place in Link’s Awakening or Pokémon with shadowy cults, bloody murder, and a flesh-reaping eldritch god. Busby’s soundtrack is phenomenal as well, hitting notes of melancholy, despair, and creeping madness you’d never have otherwise associated with the innocuous plastic brick you play Tetris on. Does the whole of it make for a genuinely harrowing time? I wouldn’t go quite that far. Of course, one really shouldn’t expect a degree of immersive terror on par with the top Silent Hill entries from even the best indie Game Boy effort. Deadeus is pervasively creepy, however, and the way it forces you to put yourself in the lead character’s shoes and consider what atrocities and sacrifices might be justified to save the world certainly hooked me. Best of all, it lingers. The way all good horror should.

If any of this sounds promising to you, I encourage you to download the latest version directly from -IZMA- for use with emulators and flash cartridges. Sadly, the physical release by Incube8 Games appears to be mostly sold out as of this writing. Deadeus’ payload of bleak existential dread in a nostalgic 8-bit wrapper is a fine example of the potential for homebrew developers to grow an old system’s library in entirely new and fascinating directions.