CD-ROM – Twentieth Century Gamer

God Panic: Shijō Saikyō Gunden (PC Engine)

The 1992 PC Engine Super CD-ROM shooter God Panic: Shijō Saikyō Gunden (“God Panic: Supreme Strongest Army”) is a genuine oddity. One barely documented on the English language Internet, to the extent that I had to rely on a somewhat dodgy machine translation of the Japanese manual to have any idea what it was even supposed to be about. We know it was sold by Teichiku, a nearly century-old record company that had a brief, largely unremarkable fling with video game publishing in the ’90s. The developers behind it seem to have been Sting, an outfit founded in 1989 by some ex-Compile employees. Compile? As in my favorite shootgame studio of all-time? Yup! I’m sad to say, however, that fans of such legendary Compile titles as Blazing Lazers and Musha really shouldn’t get their hopes up for this one.

One look at any given screen of God Panic will place it firmly in the wacky cute-’em-up subgenre, à la the better known TwinBee and Parodius franchises. Each of its stages has a silly, seemingly arbitrary theme like music, baseball, or Japanese mythology. Your “ship” is a little anthropomorphic ninja rodent fellow named Mouse Boy who gets contacted by none other than God himself and asked to fly off and save the day when an attempt to create a new universe goes awry and results in a hoard of kooky monsters appearing to wreak havoc.

Story-wise, that’s all you should need to underpin a quality shooting experience. Pity the gameplay isn’t there to support it. God Panic is such a bare-bones, perfunctory feeling product that there honestly isn’t much in the way of design or mechanics to comment on. Mouse Boy has a single linear weapon upgrade path that first sees his standard straight shot get augmented by a pair of small option satellites. These satellites then upgrade to three increasingly powerful shot types (lasers, lighting, homing) as more power-up icons are collected. A limited stock of up to five bombs allows for clearing away enemy shots in a pinch while also dishing out heavy damage across most of the screen. Other than that, there are collectable speed-up icons as well as ones that will either restore one pip on Mouse Boy’s health bar or expand said bar from its starting capacity of three up to a maximum of six.

Basic as that all is, it’s the level design here that truly let me down. God Panic’s five stages are short, often wrapping up just when I thought they were getting mildly exciting. Worse yet, the designers had the nerve to pull the rather cheap trick of making you play through them all twice via a second loop before you can fight the final boss and see the ending. The only concession to how tedious this obviously is is that second loop versions of levels are recolored and most (though not all) of the enemies are given new sprites. There’s a spooky Halloween angle to the redone art, such as giving the disrobing geisha enemies from stage three purple skin and bat wings. In my opinion, it’s not enough to compensate for the levels themselves being fundamentally unchanged.

On the plus side, God Panic’s soundtrack is interesting. Not spectacular, mind you, only strange and eclectic enough to stand out. You get obvious jokey homages to Strauss’ “Also sprach Zarathustra,” Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven,” and Kenny Loggins’ “Danger Zone” sprinkled in amongst moody piano dirges and a ragtime end credits. It’s a proper trip and makes listening to God Panic arguably more fun than playing it. It’s also the sole justification I can spot for why the game needed to ship on a CD-ROM as opposed to a simple HuCard.

Between the refillable health bar and stock of three continues that allow you to keep on playing right on the spot you died with no break in the action, God Panic is notably easy by genre standards. I would cite that as a potential point in its favor, since I consider beginner-friendly shooters a very good thing in general. Alas, it just so happens that the PC Engine is already home to multiple great works in this vein, most notably Star Parodier, which presents much the same style of comedic vertical scrolling action with exponentially more depth and polish. Not to mention Air Zonk, Coryoon, Magical Chase, Seirei Senshi Spriggan…I could go on, but you get the idea. If you’re a PC Engine fanatic like me and bound to get around to the deepest of deep cuts like this eventually, you probably won’t hate it. It’s too trifling for that. That said, don’t expect to love it, either, as the minimal effort invested marks it as one of the least essential games of its kind on the platform.

Tengai Makyō: Ziria (PC Engine)

Long time, no see! Fear not, I’m still alive. I’ve just been plowing my way through another lengthy title. This time, it’s Tengai Makyō: Ziria, occasionally known by the bizarre moniker Far East of Eden. Bizarre because I can’t begin to fathom what connection this 1989 fantasy RPG by developer Red Company and publisher Hudson Soft has to do with American novelist John Steinbeck’s 1952 masterpiece, East of Eden. That head-scratcher aside, I’d been waiting what feels like forever to dig into this one. You see, Tengai Makyō: Ziria holds the distinction of being the first RPG produced for the then cutting-edge CD-ROM format. Despite the obvious historical interest this instilled in me, though, the game itself was doomed to remain largely inaccessible to anyone untrained in the Japanese language for nearly 35 years. Enter the fine folks at LIPEMCO! Translations, who released their magnificent English fan translation this past December. Finally, I was able to immerse myself in the world of Tengai Makyō: Ziria and discover…a fairly rote Dragon Quest clone with some superb cut scenes.

I know, I know, That may come across as rather glib and dismissive of me. Rest assured, however, that I hardly consider a strong resemblance to one of my favorite series to be a net negative. Similar to EarthBound, which I covered last month, tried-and-true mechanics that will be second nature to anyone who’s booted up an ’80s console RPG in the past are used by the designers as a canvas upon which to paint their own vision. In this case, it’s a vision of a whimsical Edo period Japan as imagined by misinformed outsiders. The instruction manual comes with an elaborate behind-the-scenes backstory explaining how the game’s plot is based on a spectacularly misinformed treatise on the nation of “Jipang” by nineteenth century American scholar Paul Hieronymus Chada. There never was such a man, of course, so what Red Company’s done here is to employ essentially the same comedic framing device William Goldman did in The Princess Bride, with its fictitious original author, S. Morgenstern. Cute.

The adventure centers on the titular Ziria of the Toad Clan, a hot-blooded young warrior very loosely-based on the Japanese folkloric hero Jiraiya. We follow him as he undertakes an epic journey to unite with the two other champions destined to defend Jipang against the machinations of the Daimon Cult, a sinister cabal of foreigners seeking to awaken the evil slumbering deity Masakado and lay waste to the country.

The general flow of the quest is episodic, not unlike any given season of a shōnen anime. Ziria and company arrive at a new province, hear tell of a Daimon Cult lieutenant with formidable powers oppressing the populace, and go on a short fetch quest or two before overthrowing that area’s freaky Big Bad and moving on to the next. After a dozen of these little episodes have played out, the group has become seasoned fighters ready to take down the Biggest Bad and save the day…until next season, er, game that is. I have to assume this structure is intentional, since the art style and tone of the cut scenes wouldn’t be out of place in any number of contemporary television productions.

Those cut scenes really are where Tengai Makyō: Ziria shines its brightest. They’re well drawn, professionally voiced, frequently amusing, and would have been jaw-dropping for the average gamer in 1989. I find them endearing enough today, and don’t intend highlighting them as the game’s best feature to be any sort of backhanded compliment.

Beyond that, I found the overall experience quite average. You know the drill: Explore from an overhead view, zoom in for a first-person view on the basic menu-based “fight, magic, item, run” combat, manage your HP and MP, level up, interrogate townsfolk for clues, buy new equipment periodically, and so forth. There’s only one major exception to the standard formula, and it’s unfortunately a doozy. In most RPGs cast from this mold, one of your party members running out of health would necessitate a trip back to town to have him or her revived by a friendly NPC. Or perhaps you’d cast a spell or use an expendable item to accomplish the same result. Not so here. If any one of your three main player characters falls, it’s an instant game over and you’re docked half your money and sent back to the last place you saved. You’re provided no opportunity to continue on without them or revive them yourself. It’s pretty brutal and resulted in significantly more failed dungeon runs and boss battle defeats than I’m used to seeing. At least money is relatively easy to come by and you can safeguard your stash by depositing it at the bank before you set off. Still, it’s a real frustration trigger when one late healing spell seals your whole group’s fate.

Tengai Makyō: Ziria is a solid old school RPG with a charming presentation and 30+ hours of gameplay to grind your way through. It’s also fascinating from a gaming history perspective as the genre’s first flirtation with visual media. That said, I wouldn’t call it one of the best works of its kind, whether today or back in 1989. In addition to the overly punitive character death issue I just described, the cyclical nature of the story beats grows repetitive. The majority of the music is oddly weak, too. While the three orchestrated tracks by the late, great Ryuichi Sakamoto are predictably excellent, the remainder of the soundtrack consists of short, tinny chiptunes that loop incessantly. Regardless, it sold well and spawned numerous sequels. I can’t wait to see where the saga goes next after this promising start. Not that I have a choice. If I’m lucky, maybe Tengai Makyō II will get translated before I hit retirement age.

FX-Unit Yuki: The Henshin Engine (PC Engine/TurboGrafx-16)

Video games about video gaming have a long, poorly documented history. The archetypal meta-game framing device (perhaps inspired by Disney’s Tron) is everyday gamers somehow getting physically drawn into the digital world and having to fight for their lives there. See Kid Chameleon or, uh, Cheetahmen, I guess. The 1983 horror anthology film Nightmares put a rather bizarre spin on the formula in its memorable “Bishop of Battle” segment (starring a young Emilio Estevez!), and the concept made its way to television later in the decade via the title character of NBC’s Captain N: The Game Master cartoon.

A much later example is FX-Unit Yuki: The Henshi Engine, an indie action-platformer/shooter hybrid developed by SaruPro. Originally crowdfunded and released in the PC Engine/TurboGrafx-16 Super CD-ROM format in 2018, it’s since been ported to the Genesis, Dreamcast, and Switch. I played the PC Engine version because, well, that’s what the game’s all about! Our lead, “average gamer gal” Yuki Shirakawa, has just landed her dream job as a game tester for JEC, makers of the FX Engine console. It soon becomes clear, however, that nefarious agents of JEC’s rival, the SG Corporation, are attempting to sabotage the code of its upcoming titles. The obvious solution is for Yuki’s bosses to plug her into an experimental virtual reality device in order that she might become, in true scantily-clad magical girl style, the mighty FX-Unit Yuki and defend her favorite games from the inside.

Yeah, the references here aren’t subtle. Neither is the dialog, which can be downright groan-inducing at times with its emoticons and exclamations of “wut,” “so ridic,” and similar glaring indicators of a middle-aged man trying to write a teenage girl. That said, the still shots that comprise the between-stage cut scenes look good (arguably better than the average in-game pixel art) and the scenes themselves aren’t voiced, so you’re at least spared hearing amateur actors stumble over these feeble lines.

The meat of FX-Unit Yuki is its eight levels, the majority of which are obviously crafted to resemble the PC Engine’s most iconic hits. In essence, the game is one massive extended homage to the platform itself. This is both its primary draw and its downfall. As a presumed fan of the material, you’re meant to welcome all these nods to the greats with nostalgic warmth and a chuckle or two. This recognition phase passes quickly, though, and you’re then stuck playing through decidedly inferior renditions of some of the best games of all-time. Excited by the prospect of some janky Wonder Boy? Maybe a little sad, ugly Castlevania? Level design in these platforming areas is the most insultingly rudimentary it could possibly be. You walk, whack one or two generic baddies, jump over a hole, and repeat until you start to regret that humanity evolved thumbs. Dull as that is, the two auto-scrolling shooter sequences manage to be drastically worse, with basic enemy patterns that never, and I mean never, get around to varying. The Cotton parody has the saving grace of being relatively short, while the travesty that is the Lords of Thunder one promises to be twelve of the longest minutes of your life. You’ve been warned.

Enter composer Simon Johansson, who thankfully stepped up to furnish FX-Unit Yuki’s one untarnished high point. His songs are universally magnificent and rise so far above the rest of the material they support as to be almost jarring. Any professionally-made game from the PC Engine’s heyday would have been proud to boast tunes like these. Their catchy, driving melodies lend the flat action a much-needed shot of intensity and I can’t imagine being willing to invest the hour plus a full playthrough demands without them.

That was…harsh, I know. I regret this, as it’s certainly not my intention to come down too hard on poor FX-Unit Yuki. Whatever its shortcomings as a standalone work, one has to acknowledge it as a labor of love produced on the cheap by a very small team of well-meaning hobbyists for a niche system I happen to adore. The world needs more of this sort of thing, not less. It’s tough to really hate on a love letter, even the awkward, sloppy kind you might find scrawled on the back of a cocktail napkin.

Valis II (TurboGrafx-16)

When we last left plucky high schooler Yuko, she’d been transported to the mystical world of Vecanti, gifted the mighty Valis sword (along with a set of kinky bikini armor), and used her fresh new gear to vanquish the evil tyrant Rogles before returning to Tokyo to resume her everyday life. Valis II unsurprisingly sees her doing pretty much that exact thing again, except that Rogles’ older brother, Megas, is the one causing a ruckus this time.

Original it’s not, though that was never really the point of the series to begin with. Valis titles were meant to show off scantily-clad anime girls to the greatest extent the technology of the time allowed. On the TurboGrafx-16 (and its Japanese counterpart, the PC Engine) that meant leveraging the console’s CD-ROM functionality to cram as many voiced cutscenes as possible in between the decidedly rote side-view action stages. Assuming you can make your peace with that, the games proper tend to make for breezy lightweight diversions. They’re nothing you haven’t seen done before, and better, but you can conversely do worse.

While very much cast from this mold, 1989’s Valis II also holds the dubious distinction of being the weakest of the four Valis entries produced for the hardware. The nominal first outing, Mugen Senshi Valis, is a 1992 remake with significantly upgraded control, mechanics, and visuals. Parts III and IV and generally more full-featured due to their multiple playable characters. That leaves the comparatively basic and dowdy II as the odd one out.

Yuko’s goal is to jump and slash her way through five extremely long levels before moving on to a sixth and final one that takes the form of a relatively brief auto-scroller. The sheer length of the stages is arguably Valis II’s Achilles’ heel. By the halfway point of each, I was well and truly tired of swatting at the same handful of enemies in front of the same mediocre backgrounds. Compounding this is the overall lack of dynamic platforming scenarios or interesting environmental hazards. It’s a no-frills “walk forward and hammer that attack button” sort of game. Bosses are nothing to thrill over, either, unless you count the chuckles their amateurish pre-fight voice acting frequently elicits. You can outlast most by simply staying put and firing away until they explode.

The designers put in a token attempt to add some variety via the inclusion of four different projectile shot pickups for the Valis sword and a handful of limited-use magic abilities like a rotating shield and a time freeze. Again, however, these are hardly revelatory by genre standards. In a crowning irony, the saga’s trademark element, its cutscenes, are actually displayed smaller and in lower detail here than in later installments, too. That leaves the soundtrack to stand as the sole unqualified high point. Smooth ’80s synth and drum machine ditties that wouldn’t have been out of place in any given anime of the era? Sign me up for that!

When all is said and done, Valis II is a work profoundly of its time. Its presentation alone made it a standout during that brief interval when the TurboGrafx/PC Engine was poised at the cutting edge of the industry, effectively the first and only CD-ROM gaming platform. That hype sold units and made a lasting impression on the public at large. Even kids like me, who only knew of it from magazine screenshots and their accompanying effusive text blurbs. Can I recommend is as an isolated action-platforming experience all these years later? Nah. But I instead prefer to view it as a one-of-a-kind digital time capsule, worth a quick playthrough purely to glimpse how the future looked back at the dawn of the 1990s.

Down Load 2 (PC Engine)

Long time no jack in.

Down Load, Alfa System’s 1990 cyberpunk anime-inspired horizontal shooter for the PC Engine, was a joyous discovery for me back in 2019. Boasting fast, smooth gameplay across a wide variety of memorably strange environments and one of the slickest presentations of any HuCard format game, it’s the very definition of unjustly obscure outside of its native Japan. It should come as no surprise, then, that the developers chose to strike while the iron was hot by following it up with a CD-ROM sequel less than a year later in 1991. Although Down Load 2 isn’t quite the complete upgrade its creators likely intended, it does at least manage to live up to its predecessor.

Ace cyber-diver Syd and his partner/love interest Deva are back to stop a mysterious new menace to both cyberspace and the real world. I won’t spoil exactly who our villain is this time, but let’s just say that Down Load 2 gave me the opportunity to indulge in one of my all-time favorite gaming activities and leave it at that. You’d be forgiven if you didn’t recognize either of our recurring leads, since the art style used for the cutscenes here is drastically different from Down Load’s. Syd appears far less punkish, while the formerly blonde Deva is now a redhead. Having Japanese as the only dialog option does little to clear up any confusion for us Westerners. Rest assured, however, that they are supposed to be the same people.

Broadly speaking, Down Load 2 handles similarly to the first. Fly from left to right blowing up baddies, collecting power-ups, and taking in a succession of rocking tunes and mind-bending background designs. Syd’s mission is divided into nine stages. If that seems like a downgrade from the previous thirteen, bear in mind that they aren’t divided into sub-areas this time, so the total length remains roughly the same. The conceit of roughly half the levels taking place in a virtual world once again opens the door to some wildly creative visuals, my favorite being an ancient Roman mosaic or tapestry upon which the figures animate and lob various shots at you as you pass. Tadashi Kitamura and Kimitaka Matsumae are credited with the CD soundtrack, a heavy metal guitar orgy guaranteed to delight all you Lords of Thunder fans. It’s more than a match for the last game’s excellent chiptunes.

The play mechanics proper have seen a number of significant tweaks, though they oddly don’t impact the overall feel of the action all that much in the end. Instead of a single life and a damage meter, for example, you have one-hit deaths coupled with in-place respawns. The end result is much the same, in that you can count on taking around five or so hits before needing to spend one of your unlimited continues to restart a stage. You no longer have the opportunity to select a secondary item such as a shield or missiles to start with, but functionally interchangeable items now appear as pickups at regular intervals. The biggest change (and the best, in my opinion) is that you’re not limited to using one of two main shot types at a time. Syd’s craft can now cycle between four weapons on the fly: The returning orange spread bullets and blue straight lasers plus the new homing shot and point-blank electric cutter.

Despite not really clearing the bar of being a bigger, noticeably better spin on the formula, Down Load 2 remains more Down Load, and that’s a wonderful thing. I prefer the first game’s cutscene art and the second’s expanded weapon system. Beyond that, it’s pretty much a wash in my book. Well, I suppose the sequel is missing those drop-dead hilarious foulmouthed continue screen rants, so perhaps I can grant a slight edge based on that alone. Regardless, both entries in the duology look and sound fantastic, play like the proverbial dream, and are among the top entry-level shooting games available for the platform.

Fausseté Amour (PC Engine)

Fausseté Amour translates to “False Love,” and what that has to do with anything going down in this sleazy little low-effort action-platformer from developer AIM and publisher Naxat Soft is anyone’s guess. Between its 1993 release date and focus on a half-naked girl slashing her way through a generic fantasy realm to face off against a hulking masked baddie, I have to assume that it represents a “me, too” reaction to Telenet Japan’s popular Valis series. Also like Valis, it uses the enhanced storage capacity of the PC Engine’s Super CD-ROM format to deliver a bevy of colorful, cheesecake-laden cut scenes. Its sole claim to fame, in fact, is the way it leverages these scenes to push the boundaries of good taste just that one extra bit further than its inspiration. Whereas the first Valis was content with giving heroine Yuko a suit of rather skimpy armor, Fausseté Amour ups the ante by shoving cartoon girl butts and crotches right up in the viewer’s face. It’s not subtle, although it does maintain the bare minimum of PG-13 grade coverage needed to avoid being branded a proper hentai game.

Our protagonist is the oddly-named Corque Lans, a spirited young woman whose sister, Meriya, has been kidnapped by a gang of Satanic cultists led by a figure called, get this, Goat Bone. Goat. Bone. If I eventually forget everything about Fausseté Amour, which seems likely, that name will be last to go. Anyway, Corque’s journey is comprised of seven side-scrolling action stages, all featuring an end boss encounter and most a mid-boss as well. All seven are relatively small by genre standards. This is balanced by a lack of checkpoints and Corque’s languid, Belmontesque walk speed.

Speaking of Castlevania, Corque’s weapon of choice is a sort of extendable chain spear that can lash out in any of five directions. In addition, it can be spun around in a 360-degree arc, albeit only when the wielder is jumping. This spinning jump slash can also be used to generate one of three magical projectile attacks, depending on what magic icon, if any, was collected most recently. Finally, the spear functions as a grapple for latching onto the undersides of platforms. Once attached in this way, Corque can execute a follow-up super jump that launches her high into the air and deals heavy contact damage in the manner of Samus Aran’s iconic Screw Attack.

If a mix of mechanics from Castlevania, Bionic Commando, and Metroid sounds promising to you, you’re not alone. It was that setup, and not ’90s anime thong lust, that initially drew me to this one. Unfortunately, stealing from the best is still no guarantee of success. Lackluster level and enemy design are what ultimately consigns Fausseté Amour to the Hell of Forgotten Games. These environments simply aren’t interesting to navigate, and the token resistance put up by their handful of listless inhabitants makes what would otherwise be a punishing Ghosts ‘n Goblins style two-hit death system feel positively generous. Worse, the spear grappling gimmick is badly underutilized. It’s not necessary at all until the final stretch, where some very basic vertical movement is abruptly demanded. What could have formed the cornerstone of a superior experience really amounts to nothing more than a trifle.

On the presentation side, there are a few nifty backgrounds that give the impression of considerable depth. The Japanese voice acting seems broadly competent, too. This is where my praise ends, though. Sprites tend to look alright when they’re not moving, but seeing them in motion reveals notably stiff animation cycles. The music and sound effects are a disappointing lot, especially the former. Songs are short, repetitive, and minimally developed. There are no strong melodies evident and the worst tracks suffer from an overreliance on obnoxious laugh and scream samples. Why, I couldn’t tell you. On top of all that, additional playtesting was clearly required. I fell down a pit while battling the third boss. Instead of dying as expected, this inexplicably triggered the next cut scene and I moved on to stage four as normal. At least I can now say I defeated a video game boss by falling in a hole.

I started out highlighting the obvious parallels between Fausseté Amour and the better-known Valis. In concluding, I sorely wish I could say that its uptick in fanservice wasn’t bundled with a marked downgrade to Valis’ already average gameplay. Frankly, I’d come to expect better than this from the Naxat brand. I suppose it is short and easy enough that serious PC Engine fanatics may find it worth booting up purely as a curiosity. I can’t recommend you goat bone your poor wallet by shelling out a hundred bucks or more for an original CD copy, however.

Super Air Zonk: Rockabilly-Paradise (TurboGrafx-16)

Just one year after Hudson Soft published Air Zonk, one of the finest of the TurboGrafx-16’s many auto-scrolling shooters, they gave us a sequel, Super Air Zonk: Rockabilly-Paradise. Heroic cyborg-with-attitude Zonk is back to battle a new plot by King Drool and his henchmen to take over Earth. Except they’re calling the lead baddie Emperor Sandrovich this time for some reason. Don’t worry, he’s the same reptile bastard Zonk veterans already know and hate.

True to its name, Super Air Zonk used the expanded memory of the Super CD-ROM format to realize what should have been an even more polished and bombastic sequel. Unfortunately, for reasons we may never be entirely sure of, Super Air Zonk largely squanders its theoretical technical advantages, coming across as an oddly muted and perfunctory follow-up. If I had to speculate, I might point to Hudson’s choice of development studio. The first Air Zonk was the work of Red Company, the established shooting game masters behind the likes of Gate of Thunder and Lords of Thunder. Super Air Zonk was contracted out to Dual, who’d previously worked on . . . Predator for the NES. Huh.

In any event, Super Air Zonk not only fails to live up to its CD-ROM hype, it underperforms relative to the humble HuCard original. Practically all of its predecessor’s impressive parallax scrolling background work is absent. The CD music, which is mostly in the playful rockabilly style you’d expect, packs less energy and fewer memorable melodies than the last game’s chiptunes. This tidal wave of mediocrity surges clear over the presentation to inundate the gameplay proper, too. Levels here are significantly less hectic. Air Zonk’s positively insane enemy design has been toned down considerably. And power-ups? Forget ’em! Gone are the seven unique shot types with their own charge attacks. Zonk has now been downgraded to a basic straight shot and bomb combo.

One element that is thankfully still present is Zonk’s group of helpful companions, which can merge with him to provide new offensive abilities. Alas, they, too, are shadows of their former selves. They’ve been reduced in number from ten to seven and you can no longer choose which ones you’d prefer to bring along with you. Instead, you’ll meet a preset companion midway through each of the seven stages. In other words, player choice is never a factor. What precious little power-up potential is present always manifests itself in the exact same way on every playthrough. Not a great sign for any shooter.

This review is quite short (by my logorrheic standard, at least) and almost entirely dismissive. Strange as it seems, however, I’m not necessarily saying that you should avoid Super Air Zonk. Yes, it’s half the game its forebear was, if that, but I found it to be an adequate enough lightweight diversion. Its world and characters retain no small measure of charm. The graphics are colorful and the tunes catchy. Tame enemy placement, a ready supply of extra lives, and unlimited continues make it a serviceable casual or introductory shooter as well. It was a late release for the console and the physical disk is consequently one of the most expensive out there, tipping the scales at U.S. $800 and up as of this writing. Personally, I wouldn’t venture to pay 5% of that on the strength of the action alone. If you have a way of running it for free, though, I can think of far worse ways to kill an hour or so.

Horror Story (PC Engine)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Exile (TurboGrafx-16)

By this point, I think I have a pretty good grasp of what a typical early ’90s CD-ROM game from Telenet Japan is: A short, bare bones playthrough bolstered by some sweet music and lavish (for the time) cinematic cut scenes. Last Alert, Mugen Senshi Valis, and my subject this week, Exile, are all cut from this same cloth. These are true style-over-substance exercises centered on showcasing the flashier possibilities of the new storage medium above all else. Not objectionably so, thankfully, as the gameplay that is present is always broadly competent. Still, top billing rightfully goes to the soundtrack and cut scenes. It turns out that Exile also has its very own ace in the hole, though, courtesy of its English localization by Working Designs.

Exile’s plot is a wild one. Our hero, Sadler, is an Assassin, and I don’t just mean in the informal sense of a dude who murders people. He’s a member of the Nizari Ismailis, the original Shiite Muslim sect that inspired the term via a corrupted form of the Arabic hasisi (“hashish-eater”), this moniker being based on the group’s supposed ritual drug use. The historical Assassins thrived in the 11th through 13th centuries, right around the same time the Crusades were in full swing. With these Christian invaders rampaging through his homeland, Sadler and his rotating cast of NPC buddies set off in search of a way to put an end to the strife. Along the way, they get wrapped with Templar knights, druids, and even a bit of time travel, among other things. And yes, that makes this a video game with Assassins, Templars, and a time travel gimmick well over a decade before Ubisoft’s Assassin’s Creed franchise kicked off. Coincidence? Beats me.

Actual play is divided up into two main modes. One is a simplified Dragon Quest style overhead view in which Sadler and company stroll around chatting up the locals for clues on where to go next and browsing shops. Entering specific buildings triggers the transition to the side-view action-platforming mode where all combat takes place. Here, Sadler can jump, duck, slash with his sword, and activate a small number of magic spells. Magic is quite limited, comprising only fire and ice projectiles plus a healing spell. It’s all rather basic, but it gets the job done. As this is technically an RPG, slashing up baddies will eventually result in permanent health and magic gauge increases. I recommend you do this right away, in fact, since taking a few minutes to grind out five or six extra levels on the rapidly respawning bugs in the first area will result in much smoother progress throughout.

That’s about all you need to know to play Exile. It’s hardly what I’d call a deep experience. You’re rarely able to pick between more than two or three locations to visit at any given time, making exploration almost nonexistent. Nor is there puzzle solving per se. If you need a certain item for your quest, you’ll eventually come across it in the natural course of play with no real thought required. It reminds me of Gargoyle’s Quest on the Game Boy in that all its RPG trappings are ultimately window dressing. That leaves the action-platforming as the main event and it’s serviceable at best. It lacks a noteworthy twist or gimmick to set it apart from any other game where some guy swings a sword at monsters.

Enter Working Designs. As mentioned in a few of my previous reviews, this now-defunct publisher was both loved and hated by the gaming public for its irreverent approach to English localization. Their work on Exile was further complicated by a firm directive from platformer holder NEC, who wanted the English version scrubbed of its potentially controversial real world religious themes. These two factors combine to make the TurboGrafx-16 release of Exile one weird, wacky trip. The religious whitewashing is hilariously paper-thin. Christians are now, get this, Clispins. As if we still couldn’t figure out who these maniacs with bright red crosses on their outfits rampaging through the Middle East are supposed to be. It’s even funnier when the hammy amateur voice actors are forced to say it aloud. Clispins . . . Lord have mercy. On top of that, the trademark Working Designs playfulness clashes garishly with some of the more serious situations. In what I’m sure was meant to be a harrowing moment, a heretic burning at the stake quips about how much he hates mesquite. If that wasn’t silly enough, Sadler’s reply to him made me drop the controller, I was laughing so hard. The contrast between the original intent and the script we were given is so bizarre that I can’t help loving it.

On the whole, I can recommend Exile. It’s not brilliant or essential or anything like that, just a no-frills action RPG with quality music and some semi-accidental laugh-out-loud moments. It commits no egregious design sins and is thus a decent enough way to pass three hours or so. Telenet Japan delivers again, provided you keep your expectations nice and modest.

Bonk 3: Bonk’s Big Adventure (TurboGrafx-16)

By 1993, publisher Hudson Soft’s effort to engineer a Mario-esque platforming star for their PC Engine/TurboGrafx-16 console had proven reasonably successful. Adorable cartoon caveman Bonk, or PC Genjin as he’s known in Japan, already had two best sellers to his name, Bonk’s Adventure and Bonk’s Revenge, not to mention a spin-off shooter in Air Zonk. Enter Bonk 3: Bonk’s Big Adventure, the closing chapter in the original trilogy.

This installment has the odd distinction of being a multi-format title, first debuting on HuCard in 1993 and then later on CD-ROM. With the exception of their soundtracks, the two versions are functionally identical. That said, Bonk 3 represents more than just the character’s final outing on the platform of his “birth.” It also serves as a playable epitaph for the TurboGrafx-16 itself, seeing as how its CD iteration was the last official release for the ill-fated system here in North America in December of 1994. That seems fitting, given the high degree of affection the megacephalic mascot had garnered by that time.

Development duty on Bonk 3 was farmed out to A.I, as opposed to Red Company, who had handled both previous installments. A.I ended up sticking quite close to Red’s established formula. Perhaps too close, as Bonk 3 verges on being a carbon copy of Bonk’s Revenge at times, albeit with a single underdeveloped gimmick and ever-so-slightly less polish overall.

Said gimmick is alluded to in the subtitle. Bonk 3 introduces magical candies that alter our prehistoric hero’s size, shrinking him down to ankle height or blowing him up into a true giant. Lewis Carroll would approve. These effects last until Bonk either takes a hit or touches a candy of the opposite type. Although the idea certainly had promise, the gameplay rarely capitalizes on it. Tiny Bonk gains the ability to fit into a handful of narrow passages that usually lead to 1-Ups, bonus stages, and other nice but nonessential goodies. Big Bonk’s sole purpose seems to be spectacle; the sheer novelty of controlling a sprite that’s half the height of the screen. He’s not nearly as devastating to his puny opposition as you’d think, though. Quite the opposite, really, since he’s a massive target that can be deflated with a single touch. Ultimately, the best thing to come out of the size changing mechanic is one excellent boss battle where it’s actually used against Bonk.

Aside from the candy shenanigans, Bonk 3 is pure retread: Six more rounds of side-scrolling hop-and-bop action where you smash baddies with Bonk’s oversized cranium, collect meat and smiley faces, and gradually make your way to series archvillain King Drool, who’s up to his same old trick of stealing a portion of the moon to convert into his home base. I don’t mean to come across as overly dismissive with that summary, mind you. Sure, none of this content will seem remotely fresh to someone playing through these games in release order. That’s not to say that there’s anything strictly wrong with it, however. The classic Bonk blueprint works! My own subjective impression is that the art, music, and level design were all a tad stronger in Bonk’s Revenge, but it’s not as if Bonk 3 took a major hit in these departments. Any decline is slight indeed.

Should you play Bonk 3? Absolutely! It’s a quality platformer blessed with the tight control, colorful graphics, bouncy music, and profoundly strange enemy design that put the franchise on the map. Relaxed difficulty and unlimited continues keep it broadly accessible, too. While it’s no innovator, it does its lineage proud. In fact, the biggest strike against it, the insane secondary market price for physical copies, has nothing at all to do with the game proper and is entirely an artifact of its late release. No wonder Bonk himself would survive the sad death of the TurboGrafx, moving on to the comparatively greener pastures of the Super Nintendo and Game Boy.