Monday, June 29, 2026

The Tower of Retro-Babble: Toaplan

(pretty awesome) image from Gematsu
 

On we go to the works of Toaplan! Like Emerson Lake and Palmer, Toaplan was a video game “supergroup” comprised of the best designers from Crux and Orca. Okay, “best” might not be the right word, since neither Crux nor Orca made any arcade classics. (In fact, Orca’s Springer is one of the more miserable platformers from the early 1980s, an unsteady and over-encumbered design made worse by finicky jumping and collision detection. But, uh, that’s getting a little out of left field.)

Apart, Crux and Orca were not especially impressive. Together, the newly christened Toaplan was one of the most fondly remembered game designers of the late 8-bit and 16-bit eras of gaming. After a few stumbles out of the starting gate (Performan, designed for Data East, and Tiger Heli, which I’ll express my contempt for in the upcoming review), Toaplan earned a reputation for outstanding shoot ‘em ups, rivaled only by Konami and Compile. Fire Shark! Twin Cobra! Truxton and its even more awesome sequel! Occasionally, Toaplan would stray from that path with games in other genres- their frosty take on Bubble Bobble, Snow Bros., is dangerously close to a masterpiece- but generally speaking, Toaplan was the place to go for all your “blowing up aliens and Japanese fighter pilots” needs.

Toaplan’s games have a grungy feel, with urgent music pushed out of obnoxious digital instruments and a heavy use of gradient shading to boost detail and dimension. This meant that their segue to the Sega Genesis in its later years was almost flawless. Genesis ports like Snow Bros and Fire Shark mimic their arcade counterparts remarkably well, and Toaplan even upped the ante with a remake of ALCON (Slap Fight MD) with improved graphics, deeper gameplay, and a soundtrack by master digital musician Yuzo Koshiro. You’ve got the Sega Genesis outpacing arcade games now! You Go-A, To-a!

Shortly after Snow Bros., Toaplan went bankrupt, and most of its talent migrated to Cave, another respected developer of shooters. (And Power Instinct, but you don’t have to play that.) The skin of Toaplan is currently being worn by the Embracer Group, as subsidiary Tatsujin. By the way, the next time the two games go on sale, I’d recommend snapping up Toaplan Arcade Collections I & II. It’s a solid pair of collections with smart QoL features (the information on either side of the screen comes in handy for games with more cryptic power-ups) and just a tiny bit of tweaking to get everything looking just right.

PERFORMAN
Played: In MAME

This is technically Toaplan’s first game, done under contract for Data East. It’s another one of those foolhardy attempts to bring Dig Dug topside for an overhead view adventure, and like Dig Dug II: Trouble in Paradise and Rug Rats, it doesn’t really work.

You are Performan. (Imagine Ultraman if he came from Temu and you’ve got the right idea.) He’s armed with a mohawk, which he can chuck at the steadily approaching robot enemies to destroy them. Alternately, you can throw it at an explosive battery, taking several androids out with one shot and scoring bonus points.

Bonus coins spill out from the top of
the screen occasionally, awarding you
an extra life if you can catch them all.
It's a bit like the grapes with letters
on them in Snow Bros, or the EXTRA
bonus in games from Universal.

When you start to feel the pinch from approaching enemies, you can dive into the ground and dig around until you find a safe place to emerge… but the enemies can dig too, so it’s not much of a defense. On the plus side, there’s a ghost that haunts the underside of the playfield… catch him and you become temporarily invincible, and the enemies temporarily become your bitch.

Performan isn’t a bad first effort from the company, but hardly the pre-crash arcade classic Toaplan was hoping it would be. The android pursuers are annoyingly fast and persistent, the gameplay’s not particularly deep, and the dual-layered playfield adds more annoyance than nuance to the experience. Nobody demanded a return Performan-ce from this one.

TIGER HELI
Played: In a tiny hometown arcade, and also the NES

I’ll just put it on the table right now… this game sucks. It was the absolute last resort for bored gamers in my town’s short-lived arcade. When the line for the Choplifter machine went out the door (fair play, it was pretty awesome!) and the pinball machines weren’t doing it for you, your only option was… Tiger Heli. Miserable, life-draining Tiger Heli. The Bremelo of the ball, the chain-smoking, three hundred pound date that you had to take to the prom, because you just weren’t getting anybody else. (Don’t ask where that metaphor came from.)
Uh... the water patterns look nice!
Look, I'm trying to find something
nice to say about this game, and
it's not giving me much to work with.

You don’t play Tiger Heli. You try to play Tiger Heli, and it actively fights you at every step. The enemies’ shots are much too fast to realistically avoid, hidden bonuses require a million shots to reveal, and the wimpy machine gun you’re given by default jams if you dare to use turbo fire. I’m sorry, I was attempting to save my fingers some grief and find some enjoyment in the game, but I forgot that enjoying yourself is literally punishable by death in Tiger Heli. Did I actually run out of bullets? You do know that this is a video game, and I can have as many as I want, right? There’s not a shortage of pixel clusters that look like bullets.

There are power-ups in Tiger Heli. This is a 1985 game, so don’t expect to be blown away by them. In fact, don’t expect to blow anything away with the Mini Helis, revealed by collecting red and white crosses on the playfield. (Red Cross? I have a medical emergency… a severe fun deficiency. I blame Tiger Heli.) You’ll get them, they’ll stick around for a minute shooting tiny bullets either forward or sideways, they blow up from incoming fire, and you’re right back to your original weaksauce shot. Yaaaay.

The power-up mechanics feel a lot like Irem’s Image Fight or Jordan’s Thundercade, and neither game is one I’d regard as a high point in the genre. (No matter what the Japanese think. Sorry not sorry, but Image Fight blows!) This makes Tiger Heli the lead vampire in a family of shooters that suck. Not blood, the other thing. You get the idea.

Tiger Heli isn’t all bad. Mostly, but not entirely. The graphics have a palatable geometric look… they’re simple by Toaplan standards, but effective, particularly the diamonds that peek out of the ground and those vast expanses of ocean with their swirling white peaks. Also, when the Micronics port for the NES came out, nobody could honestly say that it sucked any more than the arcade game. They both suck; the NES port just sucks in an NES kind of way.

ALCON (aka SLAP FIGHT)
Played at: The Malt Shop in Mount Pleasant, where else?

Performan wasn’t so hot and the despicable Tiger Heli was ice cold, but ALCON (known by the wimpy-sounding title Slap Fight in other territories) gave players a first taste of the Toaplan that would eventually become the master of its craft. It’s not a great game, but it’s getting there.

ALCON is a vertical shooter, looking like a hybrid of Namco’s Xevious and Toaplan’s own Tiger Heli. It’s set in a distant science-fiction future, but the backgrounds are a bit more “lived in” than the simple geometric shapes of Xevious. Square metallic structures are joined by cottages in long abandoned streets and parched deserts. Playfield objects are touched with the careful detail and subtle shading that would become Toaplan’s trademark… it’s nowhere near the heights of Truxton II or OutZone, but again, it’s getting there.

Where ALCON falters is its use of a Gradius-like power up system. (Gradi-esque?) Glistening stars recovered from random enemies light segments of a gauge on the bottom of the screen. When the power-up you want is lit, press a button and you’ll earn it, at the cost of your collected stars. One of the power-ups, Side, increases your firepower with sidecars, but also increases the horizontal size of your ship. Good luck weaving that battle barge through the soup of bullets in the later stages! Other power-ups don’t give you an inconvenient badonkadonk, but seem less useful than the standard shot. Also, the “sticky” turbo fire from Tiger Heli returns, and is every bit as obnoxious.

The best way to play this game is on the Mega Drive. Slap Fight MD offers both the original game (in Toaplan’s usual near arcade perfect form) and an enhanced version with improved graphics, the ability to detonate sidecars in times of distress, making them less of a liability, and an appropriately spacey Yuzo Koshiro soundtrack. It has the unfortunate side effect of making the game seem even more like an overhead Gradius, but it’s Yuzo Koshiro at the keyboard, so I’m not complaining.

TWIN COBRA

Played at: The Malt Shop in Mount Pleasant, as always

Twin Cobra is arguably Toaplan’s first major success, and a big step forward in their ascension to shooter royalty. The graphics are a big step up from ALCON and Tiger Heli, with more of the lurid detail that players would come to expect from Toaplan. Your helicopter is twice the size and with double the detail of the one in Tiger Heli. The waves of tanks, choppers, and gun turrets that serve as your enemies are dressed in military green, metallic silver, and weather-worn bronze. Twin Cobra’s got that appealingly gritty and realistic GI Joe aesthetic that was extremely popular in the late 1980s. It looked great then, it still looks nice now, and it set the trajectory for Toaplan’s artists in their later games.

Then there’s the sound, which is… certainly sound! It’s got the same grating, twangy instrumentation as many games on the Sega Genesis, which meant that Toaplan made a smooth transition to that format, but also makes you kind of glad that you couldn’t actually hear it in arcades. It’s accompanied by serviceable if flat gunfire and explosions, which again benefit from the cacaphony of the arcade space. You could just barely hear them back in the day… and “just barely” is loud enough for this grade of sound effects.
Power-ups like this S emblem flit
about the screen in random directions,
annoying the player. This was evidently
inspired by digging the last greasy
morsel out of a bowl of donburi, but
maybe the folks at Toaplan should
have thought twice about bringing
that aggravation to video games. 


Power ups have improved from ALCON and Tiger Heli, but are still fairly basic, with different colors offering different trajectories for your shot. Red is your standard vulcan cannon that fires straight forward, green is an unremarkable laser beam that also fires forward, blue is a spread shot (you want this one), and yellow fires in every cardinal direction, which is useless. You’ll have to grab several S emblems to make your weapons any more than functional, and the S emblems don’t want to be grabbed, dancing just out of your reach. It’s a weirdly user-hostile design, making an already tough game tougher in all the wrong ways. If you’re playing this in the Toaplan collection, use the dip switches and assists to balance things out, making the difficulty more manageable for those of us who experienced Twin Cobra when it first hit arcades. We’ve, heh, aged some since. (Try not to grimace when your system tells you for the 46th time that you’re not eligible for the leaderboards.)

Oh, I forgot to mention why this is called TWIN Cobra! Like Double Dragon, this game offers two player simultaneous gameplay, adding to the excitement while boosting your onscreen firepower. Two player action was becoming a standard feature in arcade games in 1987, and it’s especially welcome here. It’s not quite perfect, but Twin Cobra is the first truly excellent game from Toaplan… and things would only get better from here.

By the way, there were two home versions in America… a surprisingly decent NES conversion by Micronics (BWAA?!), and a less satisfactory port on the Sega Genesis. Toaplan usually nails arcade conversions on this system, but they farmed this one out to GRC, and the results speak for themselves. Mostly with gape-jawed “duhs.”

SKY SHARK
Played: On the NES. Unfortunately.
Awesome! Can I have this game?
Not the one in the box... THIS GAME.
(image from Giant Bomb, which the game in the box is)


Sky Shark had a memorable advertisement in video game magazines of the time… it showed a fighter pilot in World War II, his teeth crushed together in fierce determination and his wild eyes bulging from the tense life or death situation. Awesome! Can I get this for a home system?

Sure. You probably wouldn’t want to, though. Sky Shark on the NES was developed by Software Creations, and while it’s far from their worst NES game (that honor would go to Target: Renegade, which defiled Technos’ corpse before the company was even dead), it still leaves something to be desired. Like gameplay that lets you learn the ropes and enjoy it for a few minutes before spanking you bloody. What gives, Software Creations? (Oh, they made Silver Surfer too. That explains everything…)

Good luck. Crank up all the assists
in the options of the Toaplan collection
if you want to get anywhere in this one.
(Or, yanno, just play 1943.)


Thing is, it’s not Software Creations’ fault that Sky Shark sucks. (For once.) That’s on Toaplan, because even in arcades, Sky Shark is a dismal, grinchy experience, and the company’s worst shooter since Tiger Heli. In contrast to Capcom’s 1943, which admittedly drank quarters like Kool-Aid but was an extremely player-friendly game, Sky Shark steps on your throat from go and does little to justify its cruelty with clever gameplay hooks or memorable graphics. The weapons are paltry (actually a significant step BACK from Twin Cobra!), the player’s ship dies in a single hit, and you will be dragged back to a checkpoint every time, with all of your power ups stripped away. It’s the Bizarro World version of 1943… while Capcom’s game invited players to keep going, Sky Shark actively repels them.

Admittedly, the graphics aren’t too bad. Enemy planes don’t merely explode, but catch on fire and drop like a bird with a broken wing first. Tanks leave smoking craters in their wake, and the stages have that usual Toaplan level of detail, with wooden docks perched over swamps and villages set behind dense jungle foliage. Hard to appreciate all that when the game insists on punching you in the gonads every other screen, though. You could give yourself hit points in the Toaplan collection (nice feature, by the way), but instead of pretending that this pretender is 1943, why not… just play 1943? I mean, it’s right there.

PYROS

Played: In some arcade, somewhere. Lansing Mall?

Sometimes, Toaplan would wander outside of its comfort zone with games that aren’t strictly shooters. Pyros (also called Wardner, which was the name it received on the Sega Genesis) is Toaplan’s take on the side-scrolling platformer, and just like with its shoot ‘em ups, it gives you maybe a screen’s worth of gameplay before it takes off the kid gloves and replaces them with brass knuckles.

Chris Hansen, we've got a live one over here!

As the plump Pyros, it’s your mission to rescue your girlfriend from the sinister Wardner and his goons. (Fantasia, my ass! This is the worst case of false advertising since “Make America Great Again!”) You can defend yourself with short-range fireballs, but Pyros folds in one hit if you can’t find a cape. A needle and thread lets you repair the cape once if contact with an enemy tears it, effectively giving you three hit points. Power ups also boost the length and strength of your fireballs, but be aware that Pyros is a chubby kid still in Wizarding 101, not Gandolf. Sheer firepower won’t get you through these tricky stages; only precise jumps and careful evasion of oncoming threats will.

The graphics are painted in muted greens and browns, with Pyros starting his adventure in a dense forest thicket and eventually infiltrating Wardner’s headquarters, a musty old dungeon with mold lining the walls and a jagged spinning blade at the end of every long corridor. Nothing you see here will blow your mind, but it fits the medieval fantasy theme, making Pyros feel like the Hobbit game that nobody in the arcade industry bothered to release. The sound is of typical Toaplan quality (which is to say, unimpressive) and the brutal difficulty will crush all but the best players. Know that this trip to the Shire takes an extended detour through the House of Pain.
Enemy designs are unimpressive and the level
design borders on kaizo, but Pyros has its
moments. It's really fun when you're in the
zone, but those lucky streaks don't last long!

Pyros appeared on the Famicom Disk System in Japan, and also on the Genesis as Wardner. The latter game is remarkably close to the arcade original, but you already came to expect this from Toaplan after Fire Shark and Truxton. Toaplan’s arcade hardware and Sega’s 16-bit console hardware were so similar that Toaplan knew how to develop Genesis games before the system was even released! Talk about a head start!

FIRE SHARK
Played: On the Genesis. Fortunately!

Fire Shark has special significance to me as a Sega Genesis fan, because it was the first game I owned for the system that 1) Wasn’t Altered Beast, 2) Was objectively good (ie not DJ Boy), and 3) Scratched an itch for 1943 that had been left unsatisfied since I sold my Nintendo Entertainment System the year before.

Fire Shark isn’t really 1943, but rather Toaplan’s own take on the World War II shooter. There are some key differences, like how the formations of planes holding power-ups have been replaced with large, bullet spongey zeppelins, and how you have to collect three power-ups to boost your weapons. Okay, that design choice I could have done without (and of course, power ups dance around your ship, just begging for you to get clipped by a bullet while trying to grab them), but at least the three weapons in Fire Shark are pretty impressive… far more so than the wimpy bullet streams in Sky Shark. The standard issue wide shot spreads out with power ups, the beam shot pierces enemies and gets thicker when powered up, and the fire beam rakes a screen-long column of flame across your foes. It’s great even in its standard form… once it’s been powered up, the fire beam is unstoppable.

There was an arcade version of Fire Shark, but it’s not massively different from the Genesis version, right down to the twangy soundtrack. The graphics are sharper and a little less cramped, but really, there’s still plenty of detail to spare in the Genesis game, like the tiny Allied soldiers that meet you at the landing pad after every stage. The only meaningful difference between the two games is that in the arcade version, you immediately bounce back from a death as long as you have lives remaining. In the Genesis game, one hit lights your plane’s wings on fire, leaving the player to struggle for a couple of seconds before crashing to Earth. No, you can’t survive it. No, you can’t keep your progress through enemy territory… you’ll be sent back to a checkpoint. It’s a subtle change to the gameplay that’s not so subtle in practice. Credit feeding isn’t going to get you as far in the Genesis version, especially when you’re limited to a handful of them. And forget inviting a second player to join you... on the Genesis, that just ain't happening. Sigh... it's like MERCS all over again...

TRUXTON
Played: On Genesis

Truxton (aka Tatsujin) was one of the standouts in the early Genesis library, a vertical shooter with aspirations of arcade perfection. It comes close, you know. The famous skull bomb doesn’t look as cool and it’s not as difficult, but next to what was available on the NES, Truxton may as well be a carbon copy of the original. It’s close enough to the real thing that pointing out any differences would have been nitpicking, especially in the early 1990s. Trust me... after I bought my Genesis in 1991, I complained that the Genesis version of Altered Beast was missing details from the arcade game, and my brother rolled his eyes so hard they kept spinning for hours.
What do you suppose the outer hull of
those ships feels like when you touch it?
Would they even be safe to touch? Maybe
you'd pull back your hand and it'd be
covered with caustic slime, like on Alien.

Truxton is the science-fiction counterpart to Fire Shark. The feel is similar, the aggravating “three power-ups to power up” system remains intact (and this time, it’s FIVE power-ups. Et tu, Toaplan?), and the smart bombs work in the same way. What’s different is the visual motif. You’re not fighting tanks and planes on a mid 20th century battlefield, but bugs and lumpy alien organisms in the void of space. The character designs aren’t eye-catchingly sleek like they would be in a similar Capcom or Konami game, but they’re at least functional… just not very memorable. The sound serves up that slightly grating Toaplan twang whether you’re playing it in arcades or on the Genesis, and again, it does the job.
Truxton II. Super size me, baby!


The game’s earned some internet fame thanks to Classic Game Room host Mark Cussler’s low-key obsession with it. However, it’s the sequel that deserves all the praise. The graphics in Truxton II have been pushed to a Sega Saturn level of detail, the music is catchier, and the weapons that were already pretty cool in Truxton are far more devastating and impressive in Truxton II. It doesn’t take a century to power them up either! The game still drags you to a checkpoint without your power-ups if you die, but hey, nobody’s perfect.

HELLFIRE
Played: On the Genesis

"Dersh!"

Er, not that hellfire. THIS Hellfire is a side-scrolling shooter that feels like the long-lost descendant of SNK’s Vanguard. You don’t have instant control over where you fire, but pressing a button switches your aim from forward to backward to vertical to diagonal and back. Enemies comes from all angles, and some gun turrets are tucked away behind barriers, so you’ll have to frequently switch the direction of your gunfire to adapt to the ever changing, and ever hostile, environment. 

Guns are set behind barriers, all but necessitating
the use of the aim switch button. They won't
stop firing until either you or they die, so make
sure it's them.


It’s not a bad hook. Frankly, Hellfire would have been even better if it had been a twin stick shooter, but the kludgy aim switching works well enough. It’s the only way it COULD have worked on the Sega Genesis… the console port of the game was released before six button controllers, which meant that you were stuck with just three… one to fire your weapon, the second to switch your aim, and the third for a blast of flame that roasts anything in its path. This literal hellfire helps justify the game’s title and adds a strategic option to the Genesis game that wasn’t available in other versions.

The graphics in Hellfire are detailed, but rendered in muted hues, and a little muddled conceptually. So I was in space a stage ago, but now I’m in a Pharaoh’s tomb? It’s like I’ve flown into an Old Spice commercial from the 2000s. There are some nice special effects, like the ring of cannons on your ship that slowly rotates around it, and the color cycling for power-ups. The music also deserves praise. They’re the usual twangy Toaplan tunes, but they’re driving, intense ones… probably some of the company’s best work.

Hellfire isn’t on the level of a classic like R-Type or Gradius, but it’s up to Toaplan’s usual high standards, and for Genesis owners starved for content in the system’s unsure early days, that’s more than good enough. It’s also a tough game, nearly on par with that other Genesis ballbreaker Gaiares. Put on your big boy pants for this one, and a pair of asbestos pants over those just to be sure.

OUTZONE
Played: At the truck stop in Tekonsha MI

“Advance or die” is the general theme of this sharply rendered science-fiction shooter, seen from an overhead view. At first blush, it looks like Ikari Warriors or Heavy Barrel on steroids, but there are two key differences. The first is that there’s no “loop lever” (that hand-wrecking crank on the top of the joystick), so the player must collect C panels to alternate between free and fixed fire. Like Gunstar Heroes, free fire makes you more mobile, but fixed fire has the advantage of stability… you always know where your bullets are going to go, so you can concentrate on dodging rather than aiming.

Choosing two players slides the second
one out from behind the first, in an
animation that's simple in theory, but
incredibly awesome-looking in practice. 


The second twist is that your character runs on battery power, which quickly depletes as you play. You’ll have to keep moving, and keep collecting energy refills, if you want to stay alive. Finding a balance between efficient forward progress and not stumbling into a bullet or off a platform is what makes Outzone distinct from the dozens of other games in this genre. If you thrive in stressful situations, here’s your game. If you like to take your time and explore every nook and cranny of the environment, Outzone is NOT your game, and you’ll be punished for trying to play it that way.

Bulky military transports crush the
earth with their mass and leave
massive craters with chunks of metal
behind after you destroy them.
When it comes to arcade game design,
little details mean a lot, and Outzone
has a whole lot of them. 
 

The graphics are excellent, as you’d expect from Toaplan this late in its lifespan. Colors pop, enemy vehicles are huge, and the android soldiers eager to stop you are smoothly animated from all angles. The sound… is also what you’d expect from Toaplan, for whatever that’s worth. Expect lots of twangy sound effects and instrumentation that make you think you’re playing a Genesis game. No way a Sega Genesis could do this game justice in any other way, though. Even Grind Stormer was pushing it.

Outzone was followed up by FixEight, which featured eight playable characters, each with their own signature weapon. The graphics have been fluffed up a bit, with lots of color cycling effects, and there have been a few quality of life improvements. You’re no longer forced to hustle through each stage, and dying won’t send you back to a checkpoint. Beyond that, it’s largely the same experience, with more variety, brighter colors, and a beefy sound chip that’s better equipped to handle the rumbling explosions of an arcade game.

SNOW BROS
Played: In a convenience store not far from Chicago

Toaplan steps outside its comfort zone one more time with Snow Bros. If you wanted to be reductive about it, Snow Bros is a Bubble Bobble clone, with players clearing a maze-like screen of enemies. If you wanted to be accurate about it, Snow Bros is the best damn Bubble Bobble game ever made that’s not actually part of the Bubble Bobble series. As the titular (hee hee) snow brothers Nick and Tom, you’ll pack your Muppet-like foes in snowballs, then kick them, sending them madly careening around the screen. Pack TWO enemies in snow and kick one into another, and they bounce around the playfield in opposite directions, wiping out any monster unlucky enough to be in their paths and revealing valuable hidden prizes. It’s exciting, it’s addictive, and like any good Bubble Bobble clone, the arcade and Genesis versions can be played with a friend for maximum enjoyment.

The chaos of rolling snowballs doubles with a
second player. Snow Bros is just fun, the way
a good Bubble Bobble game should be.


Did I say “Genesis version?” Well, it’s technically a Mega Drive version, since we didn’t get the game in this country, but yes. As with most Toaplan games, Snow Bros makes an almost flawless transition to Sega’s most popular game system… the characters are a little smaller this time, but the backgrounds are brimming with chaotic color, and the gameplay loses nothing in the conversion to a home console.

Snow Bros was one of Toaplan’s last games, and there’s a refreshing sense of anarchic self-indulgence in its design. Goofy paintings of yokai leer at you from the walls, and the prizes are plates of sushi, rather than the more universally recognized fruit in Bubble Bobble. Some of those eccentricities were weeded out of the NES version of Snow Bros, and while it’s an acceptable downport, the arcade original and the Genesis port is the sweet spot for this one. If you’re going to enjoy this game, why not enjoy all of it?

KNUCKLE BASH
Played: In a sleazy pool hall in Mount Pleasant 

Little correction here... THIS was one of the very last games Toaplan released before its bankruptcy. And it's so out there, in so many ways. Not only is it well outside of Toaplan's field of expertise (and it shows in the slightly janky movement), but it's a Final Fight game that thinks it's a wrestling game. The many bosses in Knuckle Bash are typically expies of all your favorites from WWF's golden age. Hey, there's a guy that looks like Ravishing Rick Rude, and another one who kind of resembles Hillbilly Jim, and yet another one whose sprite is clearly supposed to the Iron Shiek, but looks more like a Bushwhacker in his digitized close-up shot. 

One might generously call this a loving tribute to professional wrestling. Others might call it playing a game of chicken with Vince McMahon's lawyers. Either way, you're getting a pretty good, if pretty dumb, two player experience out of Knuckle Bash. The physics feel a little clumsy, with the wrestlers awkwardly hovering in mid-air during jump kicks, and clenches with the enemies can be tough to line up. In Final Fight, grabbing an enemy just worked, but you can't stun them with punches and close in for the kill here... the stun time isn't long enough to give you that opening. 

Let's see the Honky Tonk Man pull this move off!
 

On the other hand, the loud colors and accessible, often outrageous gameplay add to the personality of a game that does what it does better than SNK's Three Count Bout. Knuckle Bash dares to be stupid, dares to be self-indulgent, and dares to be bi-curious, and it's all the better for it. It's far from the best early 1990s beat 'em up... where handling is concerned, Knuckle Bash doesn't hold a candle to Capcom's belt-scrollers or Konami's Violent Storm. But where else are you gonna turn orange gorillas into electric guitars, or bodyslam evil bellboys into luxury cars? In its celebration of professional wrestling, Knuckle Bash also becomes a celebration of the wonderfully weird world of video games.

And you can unlock a wrestling ninja! I never saw the guys from Ninja Combat do a diving clothesline from the top rope. Just sayin'.

Sunday, June 28, 2026

The hell of Tiger Heli

Heli-No.
(image from Moby Games)

Okay, so I started a Toaplan retrospective and have yet to finish it. But I just had to share this phenomenally pissy review of Tiger Heli early, because it's reminding me of my wild days as the editor of The Gameroom Blitz. Also, Tiger Heli just plan sucks. What the hell, Toaplan? If you were going to make games like this, you might as well just go back to Orca and make Springer 2: Spring... Into Crap! 

Toaplan quickly course corrected, making some of the best shooters in the latter half of the 1980s, but good lord, what an inauspicious start to their career.

Yeah, Springer is awful too. It's like Donkey Kong, if Shigeru Miyamoto suffered a head injury while he made it. I mean, continually. 

TIGER HELI

Played: In a tiny hometown arcade, and also the NES

I’ll just put it on the table right now… this game sucks. It was the absolute last resort for bored gamers in my town’s short-lived arcade. When the line for the Choplifter machine went out the door (fair play, it was pretty awesome!) and the pinball machines weren’t doing it for you, your only option was… Tiger Heli. Miserable, life-draining Tiger Heli. The Bremmelo of the ball, the chain-smoking, three hundred pound date that you had to take to the prom, because you just weren’t getting anybody else. (Don’t ask where that metaphor came from.)

You don’t play Tiger Heli. You try to play Tiger Heli, and it actively fights you at every step. The enemies’ shots are much too fast to realistically avoid, hidden bonuses require a million shots to reveal, and the wimpy machine gun you’re given by default jams if you dare to use turbo fire. I’m sorry, I was attempting to save my fingers some grief and find some enjoyment in the game, but I forgot that enjoying yourself is literally punishable by death in Tiger Heli. Did I actually run out of bullets? You do know that this is a video game and I can have as many as I want, right? There’s not a shortage of pixel clusters that look like bullets.

There are power-ups in Tiger Heli. This is a 1985 game, so don’t expect to be blown away by them. In fact, don’t expect to blow anything up with the Mini Helis, revealed by collecting red and white crosses on the playfield. (Red Cross? I have a medical emergency… I have a severe fun deficiency in my blood. I blame Tiger Heli.) You’ll get them, they’ll stick around for a minute shooting tiny bullets either forward or sideways, they’ll get nicked by an oncoming bullet, they blow up, and you’re right back to your original weaksauce shot. Yaaaay.

The power-up mechanics feel a lot like Irem’s Image Fight or Jordan’s Thundercade, and neither game is one I’d regard as a high point in the genre. (No matter what the Japanese think. Sorry not sorry, but Image Fight blows!) This makes Tiger Heli the lead vampire in a family of shooters that suck. Not blood, the other thing. You get the idea.

Tiger Heli isn’t all bad. Mostly, but not entirely. The graphics have a palatable geometric look… they’re simple by Toaplan standards, but effective, particularly the diamonds that peek out of the ground and those vast expanses of ocean with the swirling white peaks. Also, when the Micronics port for the NES came out, nobody could honestly say that it sucked any more than the arcade game. They both suck; the NES port just sucks in an NES kind of way.

Thursday, June 18, 2026

Really Getting into Consoles, part one

Playing retro video games is great! But sometimes, just playing them isn't good enough... you want to get under the hood of these old systems and see what makes them tick. 

That wasn't possible in the 20th century, but thanks to BASIC compilers like Fred Quimby's Batari BASIC and Oscar Toledo's exemplary CVBasic (this thing is really good, like, you have no idea), the ability to make real retro games on real retro hardware is well within reach for the most dedicated gamers.

As it turns out, I've made games for a variety of retro game systems and computers, and these are my personal experiences coding for some of these machines. I'll warn you up front that this is going to get technical... and biased... and excessively long-winded. Also, there aren't any pictures yet. I'll add some later; probably including snapshots of games and demos I've personally made.

Atari 2600

I should preface this by saying that my development environment was Batari BASIC, which handles a lot of the heavy lifting of programming the Atari 2600 for you. You're not scrambling to stay one step ahead of a scanline... all that's handled for you in the background. This limits your horizons and tends to make games designed in Batari BASIC a little samey, but at the same time, it lowers the bar of Atari 2600 game development from "impossible" to "possible" for 99% of amateur coders.

Under normal circumstances, you'd have to "chase the scanline" to
make an Atari 2600 game. Imagine playing a game of Lumines,
except the beam is moving down instead of sideways, and any
mistake you make could be catastrophic. It's... not a fun way
to make a video game. I'm amazed Howard Scott Warshaw
has any of his marbles left.
(image from LaunchBox)

 
Even with Batari BASIC, you'll get a peek behind the curtain of the Atari 2600's internal workings, and you'll quickly understand how things function. The 2600 uses an all-purpose chip called the TIA to handle both graphics and sound, and neither are particularly accommodating to the user. 

Along with a simple background (typically blocky and symmetrical, to save on cartridge space), the Atari 2600 uses player-missile graphics, which can be set over the background without affecting it. Think of them as caveman sprites and you've got the right idea. The player is the larger of the two, up to eight pixels wide and as long as you need it to be. Missiles and the ball can also be eight pixels wide, but are simple lines or squares. You get two players, two missiles, and one ball... if you need more, you're going to have to find sneaky workarounds.

The fact that one of the playfield objects is literally named "ball" makes it clear that the Atari 2600 was purpose-built to play Pong and Breakout games, but clever programmers found ways to stretch the feeble hardware to its limits. The player objects can be a single color per line, resulting in added detail and definition. Activision used this all the time in its games, and visually, they're a quantum leap ahead of Atari 2600 launch titles like Street Racer and Star Ship. 


Player objects can be reused for multiple characters, typically at the cost of severe flicker. One player was shared between four monsters in Pac-Man, and that rapid swapping is painfully obvious to the player. One solution is to restrict player objects to their own vertical sections of the screen. This is easily done in a shooter, but in a maze game where multiple characters close in on the player from all angles, not so much!

There's not much you can do with the Atari 2600 sound generator, baked into the TIA. Some notes are missing, so trying to play them will result in the disapproving shriek of a buzzer instead. If you have great musical aspirations, either leave them behind or add a sound chip to the cartridge, like David Crane did with Pitfall 2. Some people remain nostalgic for the digital grunts and squeals of the Atari 2600 sound processor, and it does do explosions like no other game system, but don't expect much more than that.

Expansions for the Atari 2600 are numerous, and range from the relatively minor- games like Omega Race included extra RAM on the cart, a boon when the stock system only has 128 bytes to spare- to strapping a jet engine onto a Volkswagen Bug. Many of the games released by Champ Games use an ARM CPU (yes, like the kind you find in modern smartphones) to boost the Atari 2600's abilities, and boy does it boost them! The system is still restricted to the "rules" of the TIA chip, but games like GORF, Tutankham, and Super Cobra outpace the official versions by CBS Games and Parker Brothers to an almost embarrassing degree.

The Atari 2600 is an incredibly primitive system; the absolute bare minimum for effective game development. Trying to make games with it is like planting seeds in rocky soil... but damn is it satisfying when they eventually take root and blossom into flowers. Like they say about New York, if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.

ColecoVision

You can make good games with the Atari 2600. You can make better ones, more comfortably, with the ColecoVision. 

Now when I say "ColecoVision," understand that I'm talking about a wide range of game systems and computers from the early 1980s. They all use the TI9918 graphics processor, the SN76489 sound processor, and the Z80A processor, which means that you're getting roughly the same experience whether it's an actual ColecoVision, or Sega's SG-1000, or the MSX computer. There are minor differences in the formats (a new sound chip here, more RAM there), but they're largely inconsequential.

Whatever you want to call it, the ColecoVision is a solid baseline for game design. You're getting a healthy 16K of video RAM, versus the ZERO K of video RAM on the Atari 2600. This means that you don't have to babysit a scanline with the nervous fervor of a helicopter parent. Once something is on the screen, it stays there until you explicitly tell it to go away. This not only opens the ColecoVision to genres that would have been functionally impossible on the Atari 2600 (text adventures! Pretty much anything with text in it!), but takes a lot of weight off the programmer's shoulders. You're free to do the fun creative stuff, while the computer does all the tedious, computer-y stuff. As it should be!

When overlaying sprites on ColecoVision, it's important that the two colors
never touch, or else the sprites will fight for priority, and you'll get shimmering. 


Graphics are built from a combination of tiles (exactly what it sounds like; square chunks of graphic data, artfully combined to create images) and sprites. Sprites are 16x16 pixels in size and restricted to one of the ColecoVision's fifteen colors. Sprites can be layered for multi-colored characters, but know that putting more than four of them together in the same scanline will cause flicker. 

You can technically have up to 32 sprites onscreen at once, but a good designer will recognize the ColecoVision's limitations and use sprites sparingly, and keep them at a safe vertical distance. Janelle Jaquay's ColecoVision port of Donkey Kong used three sprites for Mario, making him seem like he was pulled straight out of the arcade game, but thinned out the number of onscreen barrels to compensate, resulting in a compromised experience. 

Similarly, I had to limit the output of "Plinkies" in Operation Hibernation to keep too many of them from falling on the same scanline as Byron. He's made from two sprites, in contrast to Mario's three, but there's still potential for flicker, and it does show up in the fish ladder bonus stage.


Sprites can only be one color, but a single tile can be up to fifteen! On the downside, only two of these colors can share a single eight pixel line. It's not good enough to be a good artist on the ColecoVision... you've also got to be a smart one, carefully piecing together tiles to respect the system's limitations while still effectively expressing yourself. Visually "busy" ColecoVision games tend to look very angular as a result of the 9918's limitations... which is why I suggest you stick with black backgrounds. They're a fitting canvas for old-school video games, they use up less storage, and you can cheat an extra color out of sprites, on a system without a whole lot of sprites to spare.

Sound on the ColecoVision is provided by the SN7 chip, and is perfectly competent. The Atari 2600 squawks when you play certain notes, but the ColecoVision has a wider musical range, covering six octaves. It also has three sound channels, with a fourth noise channel providing explosions and the roar of engines. If you're a practiced musician, you can get some respectable tunes out of the ColecoVision... Spy Hunter is proof enough of that. (Frenzy's pause music is similarly impressive, but terrifying. What the hell, Coleco?) If you're me, you'll muddle through.

Do be aware that the bounty of enhancements in the ColecoVision comes with some trade-offs. Explosions on the SN7 are... fair, but don't have the raw, window-rattling impact of the bangs and booms on the Atari 2600. Also, the ColecoVision color palette is gallingly drab, with sickly yellows and almost browns that leave tarnish on Coleco's claim of the arcade experience at home. 

The ColecoVision color palette, which sucks,
in case I haven't already belabored the point.

Here's a personal example. I've been at work on a game called Lucky Stars, which mimics the fun and witty banter of the 21st century revival of Let's Make a Deal. The characters in Lucky Stars look very much like LMAD's real-life hosts, at least as much as the TI9918 will allow. However, "Way Waynee" is an off-putting bronze, while "Oneggin Megma" isn't just white... he's ghost white, as pale as Jim Gaffigan on the surface of the sun. It's just ugly, especially when you're migrating from Atari's more vibrant consoles.

Also, the ColecoVision doesn't have much in the way of hardware features. It doesn't have built-in scrolling, so any scrolling you attempt will look ugly and off-putting, like the colors. You can hit a switch to double the size of sprites (all onscreen sprites. Well, it could have been a useful feature...) but you're not going to be blowing anyone's mind with Treasure-level special effects on this hardware. Even the 2600's TIA chip let you squash, stretch, and multiply players, but you're not getting any of that here. You can't flip tiles, you can't flip sprites, you can't swap palettes... there's a lot you can't do on the ColecoVision, actually. If you design software for this barebones format, you'd better make sure the core gameplay is excellent.

Nintendo Entertainment System

I haven't done much with this system at all... just a couple of demos, including Byron freaking out at a flashing screen. Nevertheless, it's become clear to me that the NES is not the super system I believed it was in 1988.

Designed as a cost-friendly version of the arcade hardware used in Donkey Kong, the Nintendo Entertainment System does offer critical improvements over the ColecoVision and its kin. It can handle scrolling either horizontally or vertically... the ColecoVision can't. The NES can flip tiles and even sprites, conserving precious video RAM... the ColecoVision can't. Instead of 15 lousy colors, the NES has a palette of 52 moderately better ones, with about two dozen available onscreen at any given moment.


However! There's a catch. (There's always a catch with technology this early, it seems.) The NES is restricted to a "rule of fours," where no more than four colors can exist inside a tile, and no more than three colors (plus a transparency) can exist inside a sprite. Tiles must be placed strategically to make the most of four segregated micro-palettes, an annoyance to the pixel artist. (An additional four micro-palettes are available for sprites, but they're best reserved for sprites, which typically consist of black, white, and a defining color.) You'll notice that in official NES games, many of the tiles have three shades of the same color to boost detail. It achieves that effect, but this also makes NES games feel square, tiled, and inorganic.

Also, while the NES has double the memory of the ColecoVision, it's got a small fraction of the VRAM (2K versus 16K! Holy lobotomy, Batman!) and a slower clock speed. You really feel it when you code for the system, and have to drop a damn WAIT statement for every four lines of graphics so the little toaster that barely could can catch up. It doesn't make me eager to code games for the NES, even though I was a card-carrying member of the Nintendo cult in the late 1980s. Who didn't want to make a Nintendo game back in 1988? Anyone who looked under the hood of this jalopy, apparently.

Sega Master System

Oh, Sega Master System! I didn't appreciate you back in the 1980s, but looking back, I should have. This is the peak evolution of the purely 8-bit game system... it simply does not get any better than this, if "this" ends at 255.

Sega's previous console, the SG-1000, was basically a rebadge of the ColecoVision with the serial numbers filed off. However, when Sega engineer Hideki Sato got a hold of the hardware, he quickly determined, "Hey, color limitations suck ass. Color clash likewise sucks ass. Let's not have that in the sequel. Let's also have color with saturation, so yellows look bright and sunny, and not like that disgusting crust you get in your eyes when you first wake up in the morning."


And so he set about making a Sega-branded successor to the TMS9918 with all of these features. NO color clash! Put any color from a palette of sixteen hues (selected from a large, if often redundant, total of 64) anywhere you please. The world is your oyster, the display is your canvas. It makes a monumental difference in the creation of pixel artwork. Oops, I just put a brown pixel right next to a white AND a gray one! And there's a pink pixel and a blue pixel somewhere in the tile, too! Aren't the hardware cops going to take me away for that? No, not on Master System. Just relax, unclench your sphincter, and let your artistic side take over.

Sprites offer similar freedom to the user, with another fifteen colors (plus a transparency!) that can be used however and wherever you like. Genesis does what Nintendon't, even before there was a Genesis, apparently! This reaps huge benefits in games like Rampage, which approaches a near-Sega Genesis level of detail, versus the laughable NES version. Add the ability to flip tiles, and the ability to stamp tiles over tiles without leaving ugly black boxes around them, and you've got one ridiculously overachieving 8-bit machine in the Sega Master System. No wonder the Brazilians are still using it in 2026. No wonder I'm making games for it!



As a Super ColecoVision, the Master System retains some of its sire's quirks. There's no hardware sprite collision, so you're going to have to manually determine if two sprites are touching by comparing their onscreen positions. The SN7 is the same (Sega rebranded it, but there's no effective difference), and comes up a little short next to the best music on the NES. It's a bit of a soprano, so don't expect the thunderous percussion of, say, Fester's Quest or Batman. The resolution on the Master System remains the same as it was on the ColecoVision, and at a respectable 256x192, it doesn't really need to be any higher. In fact, back ports from the Game Gear to the Master System often look better because of the increased screen real estate. 256x192 starts to feel pretty luxurious next to the Game Gear's crushing resolution of 160x144...

Bottom line? The Master System is deceptively great hardware. It didn't get that kind of love in the software department, but it's getting it now. Mighty Cuphead Adventure jumped over the NES and went straight to the Master System, ensuring players a genuine 8-bit experience that doesn't skimp on the visual delights. I've already made two games for the Master System, and I literally cannot conceive a situation where I will use the full span of its power. It's the place to be if you're making a game for real retro hardware.

(Shame about the lack of buttons, though. Just two, with pause on the front of the system itself? Come on, Sega. Come oooooon.) 

Friday, June 5, 2026

That's a Paddlin' (Barbarricade dev retrospective)

 


That's another ColecoVision game in the can. This time it's Barbarricade, a Breakanoid where the wall holds a grudge. This is the first original ColecoVision game of its kind with support for analog controllers, a feature Spectravideo's Flipper Slipper and Bit's Strike It! both lack. 

(Of course, you can play the game with a joystick, with three speeds for the title character, but I don't really recommend it. It's just not how you want to play these games.)


And what's so special about Barbarricade beyond the sharp analog control? It's a straightforward game, a little more complicated than Breakout but without the overload of power-ups in Arkanoid. There are five kinds of blocks. The blue ones can be destroyed with no threat to the player, but the red ones send the parting gift of a "stab," a winged dart that will slice your paddle in half. Green blocks award high-value coins, while gold blocks send your ball back to you at double its usual speed. Finally, there's concrete, which doesn't break at all, but can be used to deflect the ball toward breakable blocks. Every block moves down one tile after three serves, making things increasingly tight for the player if they don't finish the stage quickly.

It's a simple set-up, but it works well enough... you have to be mindful of what your ball is about to hit at any moment, and respond appropriately. Survive for twelve stages and you get to fight the master of this militia of malicious blocks, Nolan Contendre. Batter him with the ball for a while and he'll be sent back to his world of high colors and chunky resolutions!

Barbarricade was an easier project than my four other games. It's a brick-breaker. The biggest challenge was getting convincing movement from the ball, and from deflections. Normally you'd use decimals to adjust the trajectory of the ball at a minute level, but the ColecoVision prefers to work with integers, or whole numbers. My solution was to use the ones as tenths and the tens as ones, and use a constant speed variable along with a "bank" variable that determines how many pixels, if any, the ball moves in a single frame. If the speed variable is 25, the ball will move two pixels in the first frame, then three pixels in the next frame, since the leftover 5 will be combined with the 5 in the next frame. 

This, combined with twenty points of deflection on the paddle, results in more trajectories for the ball, and more spontaneity in the gameplay. I used to make brick breaker games for my VIC-20 as a kid, and generally, the ball's movement would be stiff, generally moving either one space either straight up or diagonally per frame. There's a lot of angles for the ball in Barbarricade, and it makes a huge impact on the gameplay.

Barbarricade also has a handful of features you might not expect from a ColecoVision game... the first, of course, is the boss. You battle a parody of Atari founder Nolan Bushnell, who fires lasers from his eyes as a fireball bounces around the screen. The second are "carrots," special bonuses for finishing stages without losing a ball or with the blocks dropped all the way to the bottom of the playfield. It's a bit like an achievement, but a whole lot more like the secret bonuses awarded in Sega's grossly unappreciated Astro Blaster. The third is a level select which opens up as you clear stages... reach stage four on your own and you can return to it in subsequent plays.

Finally, there's a hidden mode based on the extremely old arcade title Clean Sweep, a brick breaker without any bricks. How does this work? Well, the ball sweeps up dots, only changing directions when it hits the playfield walls or the paddle. It's not a great game, but adding the Clean Sweep stage was trivial due to the simplicity of the logic. The ball touches a dot, it erases it and you get points. That's it. It's there if you want it, but you'll probably only want to play it once.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Oscar Toledo Gutierrez, the creator of CVBasic, for his continued diligence in refining and expanding his compiler. None of my ColecoVision games would be possible without it, and the addition of analog controls in the latest build only broadens the horizons of developers like myself. Also, props must go to Willie from ArcadeUSA, who tested the game on real hardware with a Roller Controller, and also found a bug with the stabs that wasn't evident on an emulator. If you set tiles outside the playfield, emulators like GearColeco don't care, but the real system sure as hell does! That's since been fixed.

Proposed Master System port

So what's next? I'm thinking "Master System port." There's already an SG-1000 version of Barbarricade, codenamed "Canary..." it wouldn't be tremendously hard to redraw the graphics for SMS, giving them a welcome burst of color and detail. Heck, I could even expand the cartridge to 128K and add in a bunch more stages. Twelve was all I could fit into the ColecoVision game, but that could easily be doubled or tripled on the Master System with bankswitching. Maybe I could even add a versus mode for two players! The expanded hardware offers a lot of possibilities; ones worth exploring. It doesn't hurt that native Master System games will also run on a Genesis, or that Master System games look ten times better on a Master System than SG-1000 games do...

Tuesday, May 5, 2026

As X-Pected

Well, the results are in from the MSXdev 25 competition. The verdict? Operation Hibernation was selected as the 16th best of the fifty entries, while Eye Brawls nipped at its heels in 17th place. It's about where Whack 'Em Smack 'Em Byrons landed in the last contest, except not really because that was out of a pool of 31 entrants. So I still lost, but I lost more gracefully this year. Hooray for a more dignified faceplant.

I won't even argue with the results. There were many games in the contest that were objectively superior to my own, including "how the hell did they do this?" polygonal showcase DELTA and the more technologically humble but meatier platforming challenge Chrono Runner. There's also Boobie (Chikubi) Ninja, an arcade-quality platformer where all the characters have naughty anatomy for faces. (Look, I don't get it either, but the gameplay and production values are both terrific. Let the man have his boob faces.) 

With the avalanche of quality titles in this year's MSXdev, I didn't have a realistic chance of victory. One of the other contestants made a pretty good point, though... the contest accepts entries for both the prehistoric MSX (just a stone's throw from being a ColecoVision) and the more advanced MSX2 (which gave us Metal Gear 2, among others). Games for both formats are pitted against each other, which makes about as much sense as having a cross-country race between high-performance sports cars and children's sports car beds.

Distressingly, this is not a child's
race car bed.
(image from OddityMall)

One of the contestants, DavePlunder, expressed deep annoyance that his own game, Space Bash: Contact!, landed in seventh place. He complained that the format of the contest effectively denied victory to entries designed for the less powerful MSX. I have a hard time disagreeing with this... Space Bash is an exceptional game considering the limitations of the original MSX, and those limitations aren't taken into consideration in a contest where games for 1983 hardware are expected to compete against releases for later systems with more RAM, more colors, more clock speed, and (in the case of the Turbo-R) an entirely different processor.

It's hard to overstate just how impressive
Space Bash looks on MSX1 hardware.
None of what you're seeing here comes
easily on a system that only lets you
draw two colors on a single line, and
all the color choices are barf.
(image from the Space Bash Itch IO)


Someone made the counter argument that Space Bash did outperform a good many MSX2 games in the contest, but that doesn't disprove DavePlunder's earlier point. His game got to where it was with a massive technological handicap, the equivalent of getting bronze in a Olympic sprint with a boat anchor clamped to your ankle. Gee, you didn't win! I can't imagine why! Guess you should have tried harder... maybe spend a few weeks in a Dragonball Z capsule with the gravity turned up to max.

Another poster observed that if your game is creative and clever enough, it could overcome all technological limitations, which is either tremendously naive or has the bitter tang of weaponized aspiration. "You can do anything if you just believe!" "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps!" "Maybe you can make the next Tetris!" "These excuses make it easier for me to ignore the obvious inequality of a contest featuring three generations of increasingly powerful hardware!" Yeah, whatever gets you through the night, buddy.

I'm... satisfied with my position in the contest. Even if it had been split into MSX and MSX2 categories, my games would have been soundly thumped by Space Bash, Chrono Runner, and Shift. It's too bad those games didn't get their rightful due, though. Splitting next year's contest into two tiers- MSX and MSX2- would go a long way toward addressing this.

 

 

Also: Byron is a bear. He's a friggin' BEAR. The game is called Operation Hibernation. He's eating fruit to fatten up for the winter! His bonus stage is a fish ladder! Hello?! "Dog character," geez. How many dogs do you know that hibernate for the winter? 

(No, you can't say raccoon dogs! They're dogs that think they're raccoons! Dogs with an identity crisis don't count!)

Wednesday, April 15, 2026

The Tower of Retro-Babble: Technos

Yoshihisa Kishimoto, the creator of Double Dragon and Renegade, recently passed away. Guess which arcade game publisher just got pushed to the top of my review queue?

(image from Logopedia)

It's hard to overestimate the significance of Double Dragon in 1987. Technos had already pioneered the beat 'em up genre with Data East's Karate Champ, and the side-scrolling beat 'em up with Renegade, but Double Dragon further upped the ante with a grittier setting, two player gameplay, and a deep combat system. As butch martial artists Jimmy and Billy Lee, players could punch thugs, grab them by the shoulders as they're stunned from the opening blows, then either fling them away or hammer their skulls with repeated strikes from an outstretched knee.

It's not quite mortal combat, but Double Dragon is definitely brutal combat. Enemies don't fly off the screen with a single kick like in Kung Fu Master, and there's no referee to stop the fights... these rumbles are for keeps. Even weapons are not out of bounds... hurl a barrel at a knife-wielding Williams, or snatch the whip from a kinkily dressed Linda and give her a taste of her own medicine!

Spike and Hammer...? Who the
heck came up with that, anyway?
It's like how Ralf and Clark from Ikari
Warriors were renamed Paul and Vince
for some reason.
(image from ToyArk)

Double Dragon was big business for Technos, with home ports for every major late 1980s game console (NES, Master System, and Atari 7800!) and a wide range of merchandise. There were comics, cartoons, toys, even a film! The runaway success of Double Dragon convinced Technos to publish its own games in America, starting with the beloved River City Ransom. 

The game (along with the rest of the Kunio-Kun series) was a lighthearted, kid-friendly bookend to Double Dragon, with squat high school toughs smacking each other around with chubby limbs and bicycle chains. The Double Dragon and River City series have had crossovers, prompting squeals of delight from nerdy young gamers years before Marvel vs. Capcom or Super Smash Bros.

Technos games have a distinct feel, with weighty characters who fully invest those pounds into each strike. When someone takes a punch (or a dodge ball) to the face, they reel from the impact... and if they've taken too much damage, they gasp for breath to warn the player of their impending demise. The deep grappling system and "heavy" feel of Technos games lent itself especially well to wrestling, with Technos releasing Mat Mania in 1985, and the wonderfully flashy WWF Wrestlefest arriving six years later.

Here now are reviews of the Technos games that popped up in local arcades... and they popped up a lot in the Malt Shop, the almost legendary college arcade in Mount Pleasant. A handful of these Technos titles were discovered in truck stops, gas stations, and laundromats throughout Michigan.

The Combatribes

Technos fans like to think of this as the real Double Dragon 3, and who can blame them? The game charitably titled Double Dragon 3 was a hot mess. However, it's probably more accurate to call The Combatribes a spiritual successor to Renegade. Each "act" isn't a fully realized level with a starting point and a destination, but an enclosed arena, with enemies pouring in from the edges of the playfield. So many enemies. So many freaking enemies.

Even for a beat 'em up, The Combatribes is astonishingly repetitive. You'll battle an unholy number of copies of the same two goons in each act, followed by a boss that could take a direct hit from a nuclear missile and walk away with light bruising. Your energy meter, displayed at the top of the screen as a number, quickly drops, forcing you to drop in fistfuls of coins to keep the action going. It's not as exploitative as the micro-transaction filled Double Dragon 3, but it's still pretty quarter-thirsty. You're not going to finish this one with skill alone, unless rapidly tapping the insert coin button is considered a skill.

Yeesh. This just makes me want to
go to "Tone-it-down Land" instead.

On the plus side, The Combatribes feels like a genuine Technos game, with the same heavy handling and brutal attacks, but vibrant settings like theme parks replacing the sepia-toned apocalyptic wastelands of Double Dragon. The characters are appropriately detailed and beefy, and their attacks are even more vicious than the ones in Double Dragon, with the skulls of thugs getting smacked together and driven into the pavement. It's not a bad time with three players, but The Combatribes lacks the variety and technique to stand on even ground with real classics like Final Fight and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

Double Dragon

Double Dragon not only pioneered the side-scrolling beat 'em up, but was the undisputed king of that genre for several years, eventually getting toppled by Capcom's gorgeous Final Fight in 1989. It's not just that Double Dragon looks great for its time, with brawny, exquisitely detailed sprites battling against hauntingly dreary urban landscapes, or that it feels as good as it looks, with sure-footed character control and strikes that land cleanly on solid opponents. It's the technique in Double Dragon that makes all the difference. 

Double Dragons! Double Williamses
and Lopars, too!

You're not swatting away an endless procession of cardboard ninjas (looking at you, Bad Dudes...), but getting into protracted rumbles, first punching your opponent to soften him up, then moving in for the kill with a few knees to the skull and an overhead throw. Weapons and environmental hazards add to the variety, and the player's enjoyment. Rob a thug of his knife, then give it back to him blade-first for big damage and a splash of red at the point of impact. See an oil drum? Pick it up, then hurl it at a massive Abobo to cut him down to size. Chasms and waterways are also handy ways to dispatch goons... just don't fall into them yourself!

Double Dragon is a fantastic experience, marred by two issues. The first is that it's running on hardware that can't handle it, resulting in an obscene amount of slowdown in a game with an already relaxed pace. Things get downright painful at the end of the factory stage, where the crowd of enemies and the rolling conveyor belt leave the CPU struggling to keep up. The other beef is that Double Dragon insists on saddling the player with platforming challenges that don't work well in the context of a beat 'em up. The final stage with its bricks that burst out of the walls is infuriating... if there's a way to get through this without getting ragdolled around the screen by stone pillars, I have yet to find it.

Despite all that, Double Dragon is a great game... and the best way to play it is on the Game Boy Advance. Double Dragon Advance is a remake from Technos successors Million that takes stages from the first two arcade games, strips away the bothersome slowdown, and adds even more technique to the combat. There are now blocks and parries! You can sit on a thug's chest and pound him in the face until he begs to blink away into oblivion! You get a sweet pair of nunchucks, and you don't even have to pay an extra quarter for them like you did in Double Dragon 3! 

Double Dragon Advance is one satisfyingly savage beat 'em up, and represents Double Dragon at its absolute peak. The series has never been better, and it will never be better than this.

Double Dragon II: The Revenge 

This is one of those times where the console version eclipses its arcade counterpart in popularity. Double Dragon II was a blockbuster release for the NES, promising true two player action while the previous game offered a weaksauce versus mode. The colors were brighter, the new set pieces were more creative (how's about a battle aboard a helicopter with a loose airlock?), and the new spinning roundhouse kick makes short work of any nearby Shadow Warriors... if you've got the reflexes to pull off this advanced technique!

Been there, done that. Although
last time, I wasn't fighting an
obese Terminator. You'd better cut
down on the pasta la vista, baby!

Then there's Double Dragon II in arcades. It's got the same bi-directional combat as Renegade, with a left and right attack button along with a jump. However, the levels are either weirdly iterative of the first game (hey, there's that shipping warehouse with the conveyor belt again!) or creatively strained. I'm fighting in front of an active wheat thresher, because apparently Billy and Jimmy Lee don't have the common sense to walk around it. The new characters are slight redesigns of the old ones, and the new weapons aren't particularly exciting... shovels and hay bales, really?

Double Dragon II is playable, even fun when the CPU can keep the action at full speed. (It usually can't.) It just feels like an oversaturated repeat of the first game, while Double Dragon II on the NES goes to great lengths to distinguish itself from its own predecessor. It feels like a legitimate sequel; bigger, bolder, and more inventive than before. Double Dragon II in arcades is just more of the same, disguised with a beard and an eyepatch.

Double Dragon 3: The Rosetta Stone

On the corner of woeful game design and cynical consumer exploitation, you'll find Double Dragon 3: The Rosetta Stone. This game was outsourced to lesser known (and just plain lesser) developers East Technology, and the difference in feel from the last two games is distressingly obvious. Gaunt versions of Bimmy ow, okay, BILLY and Jimmy stiffly hobble around the world, beating up each country's hoods with attacks that never seem to connect. It looks like an overreaching Master System arcade port in motion, and players expected better from the third installment of one of the biggest arcade hits of the late 1980s. 

But wait, there's more! Each stage typically starts at a Weapons Shop. You're invited to come on in, take a look around, and spend REAL MONEY on extra fighters, extra weapons, and extra health. This isn't such a big deal now that emulation lets you credit-feed to your heart's content, but in 1990, no arcade-hopping teenager on a tight allowance was going to spend real money on in-game digital content. Any fool who did part with their money was "rewarded" with lame partner characters and weapons that were freely strewn throughout the streets in the first two games.

Roney? Really? With a name like that,
he'd better have muscles.

The larger problem is that Double Dragon 3 doesn't deserve the player's first quarter, let alone the bucketful it's expecting from players. It sucks. The unappealing characters shamble across the screen like corpses, collision detection is squirrely and imprecise, and the fist-to-face impact of the previous games has been pared down to an unenthusiastic finger flick to the forehead. As threequels go, Double Dragon 3 is every bit the flaming disaster Jaws 3 and Godfather 3 were in theaters.

It's worth pointing out that there was an overhauled NES version of Double Dragon 3, with a game engine actually designed by Technos. That at least makes it feel like a legitimate Double Dragon game, but it's not one of the better ones. The difficulty is almost comically high, and combat isn't as satisfying as it was in earlier games. It's like the designers desperately didn't want to make this, and punished the players for its existence. Sorry kids, but if we have to suffer, you have to suffer along with us.

Mat Mania

Technos provided the button-mashing blueprint for wrestling games with Mat Mania. As the up and coming wrestler, "You," you'll tangle with such made-up superstars as Insane Warrior! Karate Fighter! And Coco Savege! Er, SAVAGE! Tenderize their steroid-packed muscles with punches and kicks, then lock up for a grapple and let loose with a devastating piledriver. Get your opponent weak enough and you can finish the match with a pin, announced with scratchy enthusiasm by the referee. "One! Twoooo! THWEEE!"

I don't like where this
is going...

It's telling that pretty much every wrestling game in the 1980s played just like Mat Mania. You start each fight with simple punches and kicks, wearing the opponent down and working your way up to the crowd-pleasing finishers. Double taps of the joystick send you (and You) running into the ropes to set up a clothesline or a diving pin. Climbing a turnbuckle is as simple as walking up to it. It's all easy to understand, but deceptively deep. Mat Mania was a solid foundation for future wrestling games, and there's not much to the design that needed to be changed or improved.

As for the graphics? It's 1985, so the characters lean toward the small and comical. Mat Mania is about on par with Konami's Yie Ar Kung Fu visually, although it does capture some of the glitz of mid-1980s professional wrestling, with hot-headed announcer Cory introducing each match, and the wrestling network's broadcast flickering off into a dead grey screen if you've been beaten. You'll just have to drop in another coin to restart your wrestling career. Talk about Pay-Per-View!

Renegade

Say what you will about Renegade, but it's an important step forward in the evolution of the beat 'em up. It pioneered the elevated side-view perspective that practically all side-scrolling beat 'em ups use, and there's a sense of brutality in the fighting that's missing from contemporaries like Kung Fu Master or Yie Ar Kung Fu. In a typical fight, Mr. K first flattens a thug's face with a few punches, grabs him by the collar, kicks him in the groin a few times, then hurls him over his shoulder, possibly into the ocean or off the edge of a thirty foot high subway platform.

These guys don't come off their
bikes until you KICK them off their
bikes. Aw, you just got tire marks
on my brand new leather jacket!

Renegade is a mean, gritty game, especially in the kid-friendly arcades of 1986, and especially when it was brought to America with all new graphics. Instead of high school delinquents, you'll go mano-a-mano with greasy thugs, biker gangs (sometimes jump kicking the gang members off the bikes as they're riding them!), and prostitutes. If you lose, they'll rub salt in the wound with a digitized insult. If you win, it'll be by the skin of your teeth. Renegade is tough, giving the player a single life and no continues. (Advice? Tweak the DIP switch settings to give yourself another life and tone down the difficulty to a somewhat manageable level.)

There's one other thing worth mentioning about Renegade... it uses a bi-directional combat system, with one button attacking to the left and another attacking to the right. Pressing the left attack button while facing left makes Mr. K punch, while pressing the right attack button while facing left makes him kick in the opposite direction. The idea was to let the player defend themselves from two angles, but Renegade's bi-directional melee combat isn't as handy or intuitive as the omni-directional firing in Robotron: 2084 or Smash TV. It was worth a shot, I guess. (Probably wasn't worth revisiting in Double Dragon II, though.)

Super Dodge Ball

The game you dreaded most in gym class comes to arcades, without the bruising and hard feelings. As a high school dodge ball team, you rise up the ranks by beating the other teams... to death. Team members don't just walk off the court when they're tagged with the ball... you'll have to pummel them repeatedly, draining their health bar until they leave the arena and this plane of existence as angels. (And you thought Blades of Steel's fist fights were hardcore.)

This sporty off-shoot of the Kunio-Kun series is most fondly remembered on the NES, and frankly, it's a better game there. The characters are smaller and less detailed, sure, but they're also faster and control more tightly, making it more fun to play whether you're gunning for the championship in single player mode or hurling rock-hard dodge balls at your friends. There's even a free-for-all mode that erases the court divider, letting you get up close and personal with those dodge ball strikes.


There's no question that the NES version of Super Dodge Ball is the better game, but at least the arcade version looks nice. Each country's court is adorned with famous landmarks in the background, and every team has its own super sized captain, who can take more damage than his puny teammates and also possesses the Power Shot. Race across the court and throw the ball as you approach the divider and it streaks toward the opponent at mach speed, three times stronger than usual and just as tough to catch. The Power Shot play mechanic works better on the NES, like pretty much everything else about this game, but at least it's there.

WWF Superstars 

WWF Superstars is a perfectly adequate wrestling game that suffers next to its amped-up sequel. It's better than the NES Wrestlemania game for sure, and better than most wrestling games available at the time, but it's light on content, as well as the flair fans expect from the WWF brand. There are six wrestlers available, and while they're recognizable as Macho Man, Hulk Hogan, and... uh... Honkey Tonk Man, they're kind of shrimpy and plainly drawn. And while the game plays well enough, it doesn't go out of its way to impress the player.

Even the cut scenes are lacking next
to the ones in WWF Wrestlefest. Gene
Okerlund looks like a constipated
Joe Polito.

Like Galaxian and the original Streets of Rage, WWF Superstars is a competent game doomed to languish in the shadow of its follow-up. Why pay for the dress rehearsal when you can have the full performance?

WWF Wrestlefest

Compared to the relatively timid WWF Superstars, WWF Wrestlefest goes way over the top in its presentation. Wrestling superstars like Jake the Snake Roberts and the Big Boss Man have never been bigger, there's driving music and color commentary from an unseen announcer, and the action is peppered with gorgeously drawn cut scenes featuring the Legion of Doom and Mean Gene Okerlund. If you know who any of these people are, you'll be thrilled. Even if you don't, just drink in the sights and sounds, because they're some of Technos' best work.

Wrestlefest offers two play styles... the Royal Rumble, where every wrestler piles into the ring and the last man to remain inside wins, and Saturday Night Main Event, a standard tag team mode. Like a real WWF match, wrestlers don't stay on the sidelines even if they're tagged out, running interference if their teammate is pinned. It keeps the bouts tense and exciting... even if you've made a pin with one wrestler, you'll have to use the other one to keep it.

That's a whole lotta ugly dudes.


Fundamentally, WWF Wrestlefest isn't much different from Mat Mania, but it's the spectacle that makes it so memorable. There's an avalanche of digitized voice, the characters are even larger and more detailed than the ones in Street Fighter II, and the artwork captures the essence of each real-life wrestler beautifully, with Hogan cupping an ear to hear the cheers of the crowd and Earthquake bouncing around the ring before landing elbow first on his opponent. In the world of arcade wrestling games, WWF Wrestlefest is top-card talent, as legendary in its own ring as its wrestlers are in theirs.

Xain'd Sleena

Technos goes off the beat 'em up path with Xain'd Sleena, a side-scrolling science-fiction platformer that takes place on a half-dozen different planets. Xain (who looks like a 1980s version of Halo's Master Chief) is armed with a wimpy hand blaster and a jet pack, which isn't strong enough to let him fly freely, but does provide enough power to let him double jump. His goal is to infiltrate enemy territory on each planet, plant a bomb on their headquarters, and escape into space before the explosion leaves a crater where the enemy base used to be.

Hey, Empire! You're about to get Xain'd!


Xain'd Sleena is an aggravatingly fidgety game, with power up capsules offering weapons (none impressive, and some laughably weak) at random and enemies delivering inconsistent damage. Sometimes you'll just get a scratch from an enemy encounter, but sometimes the attacker will put you on life support. The larger aliens will ignore your "gage" completely and just stomp you into orange marmalade on contact. The especially annoying shooter segments between planets dispose of the health bar entirely, ensuring that every collision with the unrelenting swarms of ships is fatal. 

It's a nice looking game for sure,
especially for the mid 1980s.

So it's not a great game overall, but Xain'd Sleena gets by on presentation alone. Each planet you'll visit is distinct, and the science-fiction artwork is some of the best you'll see in a 1986 video game, with rocky outposts set against a sea of stars and alien rainforests teeming with the deadliest wildlife in the galaxy. The artists on this project get an A for their work, while everyone else on staff just gets an "Eh."