Snake’s Revenge (NES)

Compromised as it was, the 1988 NES port of Metal Gear fared quite well in Western markets. So much so that Konami greenlit a sequel, Snake’s Revenge, to be released exclusively in Europe and North America in 1990. They famously didn’t ask original lead designer Hideo Kojima to participate in the project at all, leaving him to learn of its existence via office chatter. Really, it’s a wonder the guy stuck it out there as long as he did.

Snake’s Revenge has since gone on to develop a reputation as a truly dire game, particularly among fans of the mainline Kojima Metal Gear titles. When it’s remembered at all, it’s as that weird bastard installment so bad it got stricken from the official series canon. In other words, it’s exactly the sort of thing I can’t resist seeing for myself. I freely confess that my recent coverage of the first NES Metal Gear was merely a formality intended to spare me the awkwardness of discussing the two out of order.

At first blush, I didn’t see what all the fuss was about. The opening is practically a straight redux of the last one. Iconic super soldier Solid Snake and a couple of his obviously doomed buddies are airdropped into the jungle and tasked with finding and destroying another world-threatening Metal Gear tank before some terrorists can use it to launch nukes. Gameplay, too, seemed almost identical. You guide Snake around various enemy installations, doing your best to avoid cameras, traps, and the absurdly narrow eyelines of patrolling guards. In addition to avoiding detection whenever possible, you’re expected to slowly amass the arsenal of weapons and miscellaneous utility items needed to progress. Rescuing allied prisoners and interrogating bad guys should also be a priority, since this is how you’ll increase Snake’s level (or rank, as it’s called here), lengthening his health bar and increasing the number of items he can lug around. If you find yourself stuck, you can try contacting one of your teammates on the radio. You shouldn’t expect brilliance from these guys, though I will give Konami credit for doing a marginally better job with the English dialog this time around. I didn’t notice any “the truck have started to move” caliber blunders.

So nothing too amazing in this implementation, but nothing that wasn’t also a staple of the previous game, either. What gives? Two words: Side-scrolling. Yes, Snake’s Revenge attempts to spice up the 8-bit overhead Metal Gear formula by adding, of all things, rudimentary action-platforming sections. Looking at still shots, you could be forgiven for thinking they have potential. Snake and his foes are represented by big, detailed sprites and it’s certainly not like Konami hadn’t hit plenty of home runs in this field before. No dice, though. To say these interludes are no Castlevania or Contra is putting it milder than mayo on white bread. They’re slow, stiff, and overall clumsy, likely some of the worst action segments Konami’s ever produced. Do they handle as bad as, say, Dragon’s Lair or The Terminator for NES? Hell, no! Clearing that low bar ultimately means less than you’d hope, however.

So there you have it: Snake’s Revenge is what happens when you copy the blueprint of Metal Gear’s already watered-down console incarnation and throw in a poorly realized gimmick to serve as the rotten cherry on top. The result is hardly impressive, with the lone exception of an intense score by composer Tsutomu Ogura of Adventures of Bayou Billy fame. I’m not surprised it prompted Kojima to push for a chance to set things right by making his own wholly distinct Metal Gear 2 for MSX computers, which debuted later the same year and was met with considerably greater acclaim. All that said, I wouldn’t exactly call this complete trash. Not when entertainment software war crimes like the two I just mentioned are lurking on the same platform. It looks and sounds fine and is very much playable. Just don’t expect it to make your snake solid, if you catch my drift. But, hey, at least we get to actually blow up Metal Gear in this one.

Castlevania: Bloodlines (Genesis)

Castlevania’s 16-bit period gave rise to some of the saga’s highest-regarded entries. Action-platforming epics like Super Castlevania IV and Rondo of Blood don’t need much in the way of introduction. I’ve covered both previously, as well as the Super Nintendo’s divisive Dracula X. What I’ve yet to do is give the ever-formidable Genesis its due. Well, I’m delighted to finally declare that I’ve been saving the best for last! Sega’s machine was graced with its lone installment, Castlevania: Bloodlines, in 1994 and developer Konami knocked it clear out of the park with this one. Bloodlines weds the typical lush Gothic atmosphere and stunning music the series is famous for with innovative settings, an electrifying set piece approach to level design, and faster, smoother action than ever before.

On its surface, Bloodlines (also known as Vampire Killer in Japan and Castlevania: The New Generation in Europe) appears to be another stock tale of two vampire hunters, John Morris and Eric Lecarde, fighting through six stages of creepy mayhem on the way to slay Count Dracula. That it is, though it earns bonus points from me for being the only Castlevania game to directly reference Bram Stoker’s 1897 Dracula novel. Bloodlines is set in 1917, twenty years after the events of the book, with John Morris described as the son of Stoker’s Quincy Morris, who the instruction manual goes so far as to claim as a distant descendant of the legendary Belmont family. I could nitpick here, as Quincy was a bachelor with no hint of offspring, but I’d much rather give Konami credit for going there at all.

In a deliberate inversion of the typical formula, John and Eric start out at Dracula’s castle in Transylvania before going on to pursue his vampire niece, Elizabeth Bartley, west across Europe, hoping to stop her before she’s able to revive her uncle. Thus, we’re treated to levels based (very loosely, of course) on flooded Greek ruins, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, a German wartime munitions factory, and the Palace of Versailles. This international angle gave the development team carte blanche to present concepts outside the Castlevania norm. They leaned into it big time, and I’m not just talking about Pisa. While a mere six stages may not sound like much compared to SCIV’s eleven, each location in Bloodlines is massive and composed of many distinct sections with their own unique enemies and environmental hazards. Germany, for example, begins with an approach to the factory where you’re bombarded by skeletons in army helmets popping out of metal drums and chucking bones over a fence in the background. Once inside, you battle regenerating skeletons across a sequence of moving conveyor belts. Next, you must ascend a tight vertical shaft without getting crushed by the giant pistons along its length. After that, a classic clockwork area with giant spinning gears and the staple flying medusa heads awaits. All this, and you’re still not halfway there! Plenty of fresh platforming gimmicks and a mid-boss still stand between you and the next stop on your road trip. It rivals Contra III in terms of sheer “What next!?” factor.

All this variety is only enhanced by the presence of two playable characters. John wields the fabled Vampire Killer whip passed down by the Belmont clan and therefore plays the most like previous Castlevania protagonists. He has the special ability to whip diagonally upward while jumping, which has applications outside of combat, since it allows him to latch onto ceilings and perform an invincible swing maneuver necessary to cross certain gaps and reach the occasional out-of-the-way item. Eric fights with a magic spear gifted to him by none other than fan favorite dhampir Alucard. The spear offers longer reach than the whip in exchange for dealing slightly less damage. Unlike John, Eric can’t attack upward in the air, He can, however, do so while standing on solid ground. The spear also enables a pole vault jump that’s similar to the whip swing in that its primary function is to enable Eric to access a few alternate routes John can’t. The idea of branching paths is a fine one, even if the game only includes two instances of it. On top of their individual movesets, the pair can find and employ three limited-use sub-weapons: An axe, a boomerang, and holy water. In a flourish lifted from Rondo, a stronger “item crash” variant of each sub-weapon’s default attack is available in exchange for more of the gems that stand in for the usual hearts as ammunition here. Although I tend to find Eric’s reach more generally useful than John’s damage output, both feel powerful, distinct, and relatively balanced. That last bit in particular is something earlier multi-character Castlevania outings Dracula’s Curse and Rondo really struggled with.

In spite of its world-class levels and thoughtfully balanced heroes, the flow of the action in Bloodlines might be what truly won my heart. Konami resisted the urge to showboat with the sort of massive player sprites that led so many 16-bit action-platformers to feature slower movement and more cramped screen layouts than their 8-bit ancestors. Rather, John and Eric were given NES-like proportions that, in tandem with the Genesis’ famously zippy processor, resulted in the quickest-paced Castlevania yet. It’s hardly Sonic the Hedgehog, mind you, but try booting up Bloodlines immediately after any of the games that inspired it and I guarantee you’ll spot the difference. It all amounts to a substantial, fair challenge that’s a joy to take on.

Bloodlines’ brilliant mechanics are bolstered by a remarkable soundtrack courtesy of composer Michiru Yamane in her Castlevania debut. Her “Reincarnated Soul,” “Iron Blue Intention,” and “Calling from Heaven,” all fit in right alongside slick Genesis FM arrangements of such touchstones as “Vampire Killer” and “Bloody Tears.” It’s so good, I had to own it on vinyl. The graphics do their musical accompaniment full justice, with impressive sprite work (that’s also impressively gory unless you’re stuck playing the censored European version for some reason) and a bevy of striking background effects that include reflective water in Greece and a dizzying swaying tower in Pisa.

Konami was close, so achingly close, to realizing a perfect old school Castlevania experience in Bloodlines. What tripped them up mere inches short of the finish line was, of all things, the continue system. Yes, flying in the face of all tradition and good sense, Bloodlines is the sole console entry in the franchise to saddle the player with limited continues. An unwritten rule dating all the way back to 1986 was that no matter how daunting the task of hunting down Dracula grew, you’d never be confronted with a true game over. As long as you refused to give up during that long night, dawn always beckoned. Here, run out of lives three times and it’s back to the title screen with you. It’s a decision so contrary to the Castlevania ethos that it may well have torpedoed the whole production. Thankfully, there is a workaround in the form of the password system. It’s an imperfect one, owing to the fact that passwords record your current life and continue count as well as your progress. Still, it does at least mean that you can treat a password obtained after a clean run through a stage as a de facto save point. It turns a potential deal-breaker into a manageable low grade annoyance, albeit one that was wholly unnecessary in the first place.

Pound-for-pound, Bloodlines is my pick for the best overall Castlevania release of its generation. In fact, it sits near the top of my personal series tier list, right below the first and third NES titles. Despite being historically underappreciated relative to its contemporaries, I maintain that it looks and sounds just as superb as Super Castlevania IV and Rondo of Blood while handily outstripping them both in terms of level design, difficulty balancing, and general gameplay feel. Hardly a popular opinion, I admit, but a sincere one based on extensive experience with all the games in question.

Speaking of sincere, happy Halloween to you all, and congratulations on surviving another October’s worth of spine-chilling game reviews! I hope you’ll join me next week as we resume our regularly scheduled programming.

Metal Gear (NES)

Love it or hate it, the Metal Gear series is a cultural force to be reckoned with. Millions of gamers the world over are acquainted with ex-Konami designer Hideo Kojima’s singular brainchild. Between its influential stealth action focus, its blending of real military history with speculative sci-fi, and its mountains of intricate and frankly bizarre lore, there’s nothing else quite like it.

Back in 1988, however, all me and my fellow North American NES fanatics knew of Metal Gear came from a single enigmatic cartridge of the same name published under Konami’s Ultra Games shell label. We had no idea that it actually represented a heavily compromised (perhaps butchered) port of Kojima’s original version, which had debuted on Japanese MSX2 home computers the year prior. In spite of the many clumsy alterations and omissions Metal Gear suffered during its conversion to Nintendo hardware, its unconventional take on the overhead action-adventure formula still won it a substantial following. Instead of collecting swords or magical doohickeys, super-soldier protagonist Solid Snake slowly accumulated an arsenal that included various firearms, a gas mask, and a land mine detector. When in need of a pick-me-up, he scarfed down canned field rations rather than healing potions. Most of Snake’s conversations with NPCs take place not in person, but via a radio you get to manually tune. This isn’t to say that the distinction between Metal Gear and something like The Legend of Zelda was purely skin-deep. Mangled as they were, the trademark stealth mechanics were just barely functional enough to be intriguing.

Now here I am, 35 years later, seeking to answer one question: Is the bowdlerized Metal Gear experience of my youth actually worth a damn now that translated renditions of the MSX2 game are available via both official and unofficial channels? In short, nope! Harsh? Maybe. But this most recent mission to infiltrate Outer Heaven and eliminate the threat to world peace posed by the mobile all-terrain nuclear weapons platform Metal Gear only highlighted what a lackluster take on the concept it is.

Much has been made of the NES Metal Gear’s absurd translation “Uh-oh! The truck have started to move!”) and the fact that the climactic encounter with the titular laser shooting WMD itself was cut. In other words, Metal Gear couldn’t be bothered to appear in this Metal Gear game. The larger issue for me, though, is easily the lack of care paid to implementing the stealth component that was intended to be the game’s core feature. Combat is meant to be risky and ideally avoided whenever possible. Accordingly, almost every screen on the MSX2 Metal Gear can be traversed without alerting the guards to Snake’s presence. Assuming the player is patient, skillful, and willing to learn enemy movement patterns, that is. Not so on the NES, where the designers were even fool enough to have you appear on top of enemies during some screen transitions. Avoiding detection is so often flat-out impossible that it twists what should be a tense, high stakes game of cat and mouse into a tedious clown show. Blasting away everything in your path and gulping down rations as needed to soak the damage shouldn’t work. At least not for extended periods. Here, it’s business as usual.

With its garbled script, lackluster ending sequence, and thoroughly bungled sneaking, it’s no wonder Metal Gear’s creator has disowned this tragic interpretation of his work. Strip away those elements, and all you’re left with is a neat yet unfulfilled premise bundled with some catchy music and the usual clunky menus and cryptic progression requirements of any given mid-’80s action-adventure title. It’s not fully unplayable, but I’d recommend most similar efforts on the platform over it, including ones like Konami’s own Castlevania II: Simon’s Quest that I otherwise don’t rate particularly high. I feel confident concluding that its primary value today is as a nostalgia trip for NES enthusiasts of a certain age. Everyone else should take it for the cautionary tale it is and look to the MSX2 release for their fun.

Nemesis (Game Boy)

Leave it to old school Konami to up the ante. 1990’s Nemesis was only the second traditional spaceship shooter to appear on the fledgling Game Boy. To say that it outclasses its predecessor, the thoroughly pedestrian Solar Striker, would be a ludicrous understatement. The team behind Nemesis rolled up their sleeves and proceeded to show the rest of the industry how it was done with a fully realized portable entry in the celebrated Gradius franchise. Every key gameplay feature Gradius fans could have asked for is present and accompanied by what I consider to be the finest pixel art and music produced for the platform up to that point. The runner-up? Konami’s own Castlevania: The Adventure, of course. Stone cold legends, these guys.

But why didn’t they stick with the Gradius branding? Beats me. Nemesis had been the title chosen for two Gradius spin-offs appearing on Japanese MSX home computers in 1986 and 1987. It had never been used outside Japan, though, so they were seemingly hampering their own international marketing efforts by not capitalizing on Gradius’ status as a worldwide smash hit. Oh, well. It’s not like that really matters over three decades on.

If you’ve played any Gradius (or Parodius) in the past, you know the drill here: Fly your ship from left to right blowing up aliens and trying to avoid being annihilated by either their return fire or collisions with the scenery, both of which are instantly fatal. Collect the icons dropped by certain foes and cash them in as desired to purchase power-ups from a menu situated along the bottom of the screen. A speed boost costs one, air-to-ground missiles two, lasers four, and so on. The two most expensive and important are the option satellites that trail after your ship mirroring its shots and the almighty force field that grants you a limited ability to absorb enemy attacks. At the end of every zone waits a huge, intimidating boss with a vulnerable core serving as its weak point. Oh, and try not to slip up and die, since you’ll be sent back to the last checkpoint with no ship upgrades to your name. Mounting a comeback in Gradius is famously tough, if technically possible.

Most of the stock Gradius settings show up in Nemesis. You’ll begin in a rocky, volcanic zone, battle the Big Core ship, weave between ring-spewing moai statues, and end up assaulting a high-tech fortress with tricky moving walls. Keep an eye out for hidden exits to the rare point-laden bonus area! This “greatest hits” approach to level and enemy design is common in Gradius sequels, for better and worse. That said, I did appreciate the fourth stage’s comparatively original dinosaur graveyard concept. The soundtrack follows suit, being stacked with superb stereo arrangements of familiar themes.

The most surprising thing about Nemesis, apart from its overall stellar quality in light of its early release, is just how customizable and forgiving it is. Right off the bat, you can choose to start play on any of the game’s five stages. In addition, you’re free to bump your stock of lives up from the default three to as many as 99! I suppose you can also lower the life count if you’re a true masochist. These are the sorts of options I typically associate with cheat codes and hidden debug menus, yet here they’re incorporated into the base game like it’s no big deal. As a series veteran, I was able to clear the base difficulty with the default three lives and no continues in around half an hour. For newcomers, however, the freedom to learn the levels and mechanics in such a freeform manner, without the pressure of losing progress, makes Nemesis the single easiest entry point to the seminal gaming experience that is Gradius. For this reason alone, it deserves a wider audience than the hardcore Game Boy aficionados who’ve rightfully sang its praises all along.

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.

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.

Operation C (Game Boy)

I’ve said it before, but handheld platforms are the Rodney Dangerfields of the gaming ecosystem: No respect at all. When Konami released Contra III: The Alien Wars for the Super Nintendo in 1992, they effectively denied the legacy of what was indisputably the true third Contra outing. 1991’s Operation C for Game Boy deserved better and still does. It succeeded where some other early Game Boy efforts like Castlevania: The Adventure failed by delivering a faithful and fun portable rendition of the 8-bit Contra formula. On top of that, it did its part to push the franchise forward. Whereas the original Contra and its immediate sequel, Super C, started out in the arcades, Operation C was the first entry to be created from the ground up for a home audience. It also innovated in the gameplay department via the introduction of the homing gun, a fan favorite weapon that would go on to become a series staple. Quite the resume for a lowly handheld trifle, no?

On the off chance you’re curious about the rationale for all the carnage here, a sinister group called Black Viper is using alien DNA to create world-threatening bio-weapons and it falls on our favorite shirtless future commandos to take them down. Which beefcake heeds the call varies by region. The Japanese version of the story has you playing as Bill Rizer and the North American one claims you’re Lance Bean. Not that you can tell the two apart in monochrome. Then there’s Europe, where Konami kept up its tradition of rebranding the early Contra titles as Probotector and replacing the human protagonists with robots in deference to Germany’s notoriously strict censorship laws. Video games are weird.

Operation C is essentially a riff on the superb NES port of Super C, except shorter, slightly slower (to minimize motion blur on those tiny LCD screens), and single-player only. The similarity is most obvious in the second and fourth of its five stages, which adopt the same overhead perspective Super C used to break up the standard side-scrolling. As in Super C, they’re not as dynamic or entertaining as the traditional side-view running and gunning, but they’re fine for what they are and easily trump most other Contra gimmick levels.

It’s been said that Operation C reduced the player’s arsenal relative to previous Contras. Although this is technically correct, I believe it more accurate to say that it streamlined things. The machine gun power-up is indeed gone, since the player now has access to it by default. That means rapid fire all the time. No more furiously tapping away with your single-action pea shooter. Can we really call that a loss? The mediocre laser has been removed as well, replaced by the far cooler homing. Again, no loss. The iconic spread and exploding fire shot from Super C round out a selection that, while small compared to the likes of the later Contra: Hard Corps, is on par with those of its predecessors. Every offensive option is viable, too, so you won’t find yourself frustrated when you accidentally grab a “power-up” that screws you over.

Operation C’s graphics are simply masterful, in that I can’t imagine a better looking take on Contra existing within the limitations of a four-color Game Boy display. Sprites are universally well drawn and backgrounds have just enough detail to convey a strong sense of place without obscuring the action. On the flip side, I’ll admit to being somewhat disappointed by the soundtrack. It leans heavily on reprises of tunes from the first Contra. Sure, they sound great and they’re in stereo. There’s little I haven’t heard before, however, and that’s a shame.

Operation C’s isn’t an ideal Contra experience, nor is it among my personal favorite installments. The short length, lack of multiplayer, and recycled music all combine to limit its appeal for me. It’s not particularly challenging, either. Memorizing the stage layouts and enemy patterns took me a couple hours. Once I did finally clear it, I proceeded to crush the harder second loop without dying once. If I’d continued playing for score (and racking up extra lives), I’d probably still be at it now. I suppose this does at least make it a solid choice for novices. In any case, allow me to reiterate that Operation C was an important step in the evolution of Contra and remains a worthwhile playthrough today. Is it scaled down? Yes. Compromised? Hell, no. Viva the real Contra III!

Contra (NES)

How is it that I’m five and half years into to this sprawling review project of mine and still haven’t given NES Contra its due? What an absurd oversight. I feel like I owe an apology. Let’s sort this out.

Contra is, of course, the slick Rambo/Predator/Aliens mashup that set the gold standard for all side-scrolling run-and-guns to follow. Set in the year 2633 A.D., it follows the exploits of musclebound Marines Bill Rizer and Lance Bean as they blast their way across a remote Pacific island in order to stop the extraterrestrial terrorist organization Red Falcon from taking over the world. This 1988 interpretation of the 1987 arcade original is easily the best known version, and rightfully so. It’s a rare example of an 8-bit home conversion of a contemporary 16-bit title that managed to improve on its source material in virtually every way that matters. Stages are expanded. The movement, especially the jumping, feels faster and more responsive. The switch from a vertically-oriented display to a horizontal one makes for a superior view of the action much of the time. The music is easier on the ears thanks to a significantly less shrill, abrasive tone. As if all that wasn’t enough, the Famicom edition includes a custom Konami mapper chip that allows for cut scenes and animated background tiles not present in the international release. They sure set out to spoil us with this one.

Of course, no discussion of Contra would be complete without addressing the elephant in the room: The Code. Entering this most famous of cheats at the title screen will multiply your stock of lives by a factor of ten, making a successful playthrough a trivial task. Often called the “Konami Code” or the “Contra Code” after the game that made it famous, the iconic input sequence was created by designer Kazuhisa Hashimoto as a tool for playtesting the 1986 Famicom port of Gradius. It made its way into the final build, though, as well as into over a hundred games since, some of which weren’t even made by Konami.

Yet for all its impact on gaming culture (so many t-shirts!), I’d give The Code a pass if I were you. Really. It’s the reason I never particularly liked Contra as a kid. See, I didn’t own it back then. That meant that whenever I got to play it, it was the two-player simultaneous mode with friends, and they invariably insisted on The Code. This had the effect of turning a precision-focused action tour-de-force into a sloppy clown show. Took a bullet to the face? Get right back up and jog into the next. Why not? It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. It wasn’t until just last decade that I got around to playing Contra unaided, waking up to how brilliantly designed it is in the process. I’d love nothing more than for others to arrive at that realization quicker than I did.

What’s so great here, exactly? Fundamentally, Contra is a triumph of balance, pacing, and irrepressible ’80s action flick bombast. It’s an exhilarating headlong sprint of a game that never lets up for an instant. You’re surrounded at all times by things to shoot and dodge. Rather than playing out as chaotic or haphazard, however, the result is eminently fair, with an uncanny knack for making the player feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Precision control allows you to fire as needed in eight directions and react to incoming attacks almost at the speed of thought. When you do inevitably die to a single bullet or touch from an enemy, you never feel like it had to happen the way it did. The tools necessary for success are given to you right out of the gate, after all, including one of the smoothest jumps ever programmed. Power-ups like the celebrated Spread Gun are merely the icing on the cake.

The closest thing I can muster to a gripe involves the two 3-D base stages that show up in the first half. Although the over-the-shoulder viewpoint used to depict these claustrophobic corridors was certainly striking for the day, they’re simply not quite as fast-paced or fun as the rest of the game. They’re effectively minor speed bumps scattered between the six main areas. That said, they’re not terrible. While alternate level types in Contra sequels have been done better (Super C), they’ve also been done far worse (Contra III). This I can live with, at least.

So to sum up: Play Contra. Play it the right way, too, without all those extra lives. Do this and you’ll discover one of the most perfect video games in the history of the medium. It’s an archetypal short and sweet Konami masterpiece, right up there with Castlevania for me in that respect. It may clock it at under half an hour, but I can guarantee you won’t be bored for a second of that. When I said this set the standard, I meant it. We’re nearly 35 years on now and new releases in the same vein still struggle to equal, let alone exceed it. Bravo!

Gokujō Parodius – Kako no Eikō o Motomete (Super Famicom)

Konami’s Parodius saga was nothing if not consistent. No matter which installment you pick up, you’re in for wacky horizontal shooting based on mechanics lifted straight from the company’s own Gradius and TwinBee franchises. There are a lot more sexy ladies and berserk octopuses to go around in Parodius, sure, but the fundamentals never really change. So it goes for Gokujō Parodius – Kako no Eikō o Motomete (“Fantastic Parodius – Pursue the Glory of the Past”), the 1994 Super Famicom port of the arcade game that debuted earlier that same year. As the middle child on the system, it features a larger roster of playable characters than its predecessor, Parodius: Non-Sense Fantasy, and a smaller one then its successor, Jikkyō Oshaberi Parodius. Apart from that, the three look, sound, and play so alike that you could swap stages around between them without a casual fan even noticing.

Whereas the arcade Gokujō Parodius offered eight “ships” to choose between, the Super Famicom cranks that up to eleven. And, no, that’s not a Spinal Tap reference. New to this release are fighting infant Upa (from Bio Miracle Bokutte Upa), Goemon (from Ganbare Goemon), and Kid Dracula (from Akumajō Special: Boku Dracula-kun). They join Parodius stalwarts like the Vic Viper, TwinBee, Pentarou the penguin, and Tako the octopus. With every character having his, her, or its own unique suite of weapons, the replay value is immense. Each hero also has an alternate version usable in the game’s two-player mode, such as Goemon’s chubby sidekick, Ebisumaru. Hell, yes. This world can always use more Ebisumaru.

There are a total of nine levels to overcome this time, although two of them are cleverly hidden and it wouldn’t surprise me if many players never managed to find them back in the day. One of these is an extended battle against a moai head-studded space battleship that can only be accessed by if you have the correct digit occupying the hundreds place in your score when you defeat specific bosses. The other, a super difficult “special stage,” is a sort of post-credits Easter egg, so make sure not to switch the power off prematurely or you’ll miss out on the the true final boss.

With that, I’m actually running out of things to say already! How’s that for a change? Lest I be accused of phoning it in this week, however, allow me to emphasize that this is the third Parodius I’ve reviewed now. It has all the strengths of its brethren: Excellent graphics, a lively soundtrack based around various classical and public domain standards, the brilliant gameplay of Gradius, and an irrepressible sense of whimsy. Similarly, it shares their Achilles’ heel in the form of significant slowdown when the action gets intense, which is often. Simply put, Gokujō Parodius is another worthy entry in the series. No more, no less. If you’ve ever wanted to fly through a colossal claw machine blowing up penguins to the tune of Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” (and who hasn’t?), it’s got what you need. Nuff said.

Ganbare Goemon Kirakira Dōchū: Boku ga Dancer ni Natta Wake (Super Famicom)

Wow. Am I already on the last 16-bit Ganbare Goemon game? It feels like yesterday that my Goemon experience was limited to The Legend of the Mystical Ninja, one of the few entries in the series to see the light of day outside Japan. Now here I am digging into its third Super Famicom follow-up, Ganbare Goemon Kirakira Dōchū: Boku ga Dancer ni Natta Wake. That translates to “Go For It, Goemon: The Twinkling Journey – The Reason I Became a Dancer.” The twinkling part refers to stars, since the twist this time around is our titular wacky medieval bandit and pals visiting outer space. As for the dancing, well, I wouldn’t want to spoil the ending for you, would I?

As a late 1995 release from powerhouse developer Konami, Kirakira Dōchū looks and sounds spectacular. The version I played benefits from an equally spectacular English fan translation by Tom, FlashPV, and DDSTranslation. These folks went above and beyond, translating shop signs and other graphical text in addition to the standard dialogue boxes. I only wish all their hard work could have gone into a better game, as this one is sadly the weakest of the four Goemon outings on the platform in my estimate. Although its flashy presentation and winning sense of humor are commendable, Kirakira Dōchū is dogged by half-baked platforming and some truly terrible boss encounters.

If you’re wondering how the gang ends up exploring alien worlds, it’s as weird as you’d expect. Goemon, Ebisumaru, Yae, and Sasuke have gathered to celebrate the Wise Old Man’s 98th birthday. All of the sudden, their giant mecha Impact starts talking, revealing that he’s no mere machine. He’s alive; a sentient robot from the planet Impact. Further, said planet is currently under threat from a deranged super sportsman named Harakiri Seppukumaru. Naturally, our four heroes resolve to travel to Planet Impact and set things right. So our theme is Edo era Japan in space plus sports? Okay.

Upon arrival, the crew discovers that Planet Impact is closed off by an energy shield projected by bases on four of the surrounding planets. Since there’s four of them, they opt to split up and tackle one world apiece. This defines the structure of the first 75% or so of the game, with each character having his or her own set of stages and towns to play through before the team eventually reunites for the grand finale on Planet Impact. You can play through the opening four planets in any order you please. Whether you want to focus on one at a time or zip back and forth completing them piecemeal is up to you. Once you reach the final area, you gain the ability to cycle between characters at any time with a press of the Select button.

The bulk of Kirakira Dōchū’s gameplay is straightforward side-view platforming that will be familiar to Mystical Ninja fans. It doesn’t entirely abandon Ganbare Goemon 3’s adventure game approach, however. In fact, it aims for a synthesis of sorts, albeit one weighted heavily in favor of the action bits. The playable characters gain special movement abilities over the course of their journey, such as Ebisumaru’s rock smashing ballet spin or Yae’s mermaid transformation. These allow you to revisit previous levels and access alternate paths à la Metroid. Your reward for these excursions is typically a beckoning cat (maneki-neko) statue. Collecting all three cats on a given planet will lengthen your health bar by one unit.

Towns are where you’ll shop for items, heal up, save your progress, and get the occasional clue. They also sport some of Kirakira Dōchū’s most appealing visuals. Turns out that extraterrestrial civilizations in these parts are remarkably similar to 16th century Japan. Who knew? Seeing bug-eyed tentacle geisha and other cheesy sci-fi takes on iconic Ganbare Goemon NPCs wandering the streets is definitely worth a chuckle. You’ll encounter the occasional puzzle or timed challenge in town, too. These include delivering a certain number of newspapers to subscribers within a time limit and comparison shopping in order to be able to afford all the items on an eccentric restaurateur’s grocery list. They aren’t very deep or difficult errands, serving primarily as a vehicle for more of the franchise’s trademark absurd humor.

It’s not a bad setup on paper. It’s only when you settle in to actually play Kirakira Dōchū that the cracks in its façade become apparent. The platforming here simply isn’t as tight and satisfying as it is in Mystical Ninja or Ganbare Goemon 2. Stages are plagued by leaps of faith, questionable enemy placement (especially for the vile green birds), and poorly telegraphed trial-and-error gimmicks that will kill most players off on a first attempt. The result, while not unplayable, is still noticeably sub-par when compared to earlier installments. Unlimited continues can only alleviate these frustrations somewhat. They can’t excuse them.

Bosses are an order of magnitude worse. Kirakira Dōchū doesn’t have boss fights in the conventional sense. Rather, these clashes take the form of standalone button-mashing exercises that seem to have been inspired by the likes of Konami’s own Track & Field sports games. Yes, you essentially beat these guys by hammering the A and B buttons alternately as quick as you can for extended periods. It’s obnoxious and can easily grow physically painful if you fail and are forced to redo the whole sequence multiple times. That outcome is highly likely, by the way. The one high point is a boss who challenges you to beat her at a Puyo Puyo-esque color matching puzzle game instead. I’m no Puyo Puyo fanatic or anything, but this at least comes across as a video game and not senseless hand and wrist torture. How anyone though this dreck was a suitable replacement for one of the standout elements of past Ganbare Goemon titles is utterly beyond me. It overshoots quirky and lands squarely in plain stupid territory.

Ganbare Goemon Kirakira Dōchū: Boku ga Dancer ni Natta Wake has all the audiovisual pizzazz and comedic charm I’ve come to expect from one of my favorite classic Konami franchises. Despite all that, I have a hard time picturing myself revisiting it. The platforming is mediocre at best and the boss mini-games are far too annoying for a second go-around. An unfortunate note to end Goemon’s otherwise superb Super Famicom run on, to be sure. How ironic that the one where you go to the stars is the least stellar of the lot.