Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island: 3HN Egg Layer

 Several weeks ago, my wife and I discovered a garage sale at a nearby house. Being a collector of retro videogame cartridges, I am usually open to browsing at garage sales, but certain garage sales are more likely to have older game cartridges than others. Primarily, I look for the age of the house and neighborhood; if the house and neighborhood is around 15 to 20 years of age, the owners are more likely to still have the artifacts of their children's pasts, namely toys and games. I also look for economically middle-class areas because people there probably had enough disposable income to purchase video games back in the day, but not enough to live in a more affluent neighborhood. Also, I tend to think that wealthy people just throw their old junk away, while middle-class people tend to save their junk in the hope that they will sell the junk... in a garage sale. At least, that's what I do.

Anyway, it was at that garage sale many weeks ago that I recovered two SNES cartridges: NBA Jam and Super Mario World 2: Yoshi's Island (heretofore Yoshi's Island). As I wrote in my previous post, NBA Jam for the SNES was a shadow of what it was in the arcade, and that's saying much because I wasn't a huge fan of the arcade version of NBA Jam. Thankfully, I only spent about $1.50 on it, so it wasn't a massive monetary drain. Conversely, Yoshi's Island was (as many other reviewers have written) and is a wonderful gaming experience. When it was released in North America in 1995, I was at UCLA starting my third year of study. I have no recollection of its release, mostly because I was a Sega Genesis owner and a sports gamer. Like many SNES games I have since purchased, Yoshi's Island had passed me by at its time of release and was unknown to me for over a decade.

Yoshi's Island is a platforming sidescroller in the grand tradition of most games in the Super Mario Brothers/World franchise insofar as you need considerable skill to leap from platform to level, you encounter ground-scurrying baddies, and it involves Mario. However, Yoshi's Island turns the Mario concept on its head: instead of you playing as Mario and riding Yoshi as in Super Mario World, you are Yoshi and you must carry baby Mario to the end. When you are hit by a baddie, you lose Mario as he floats away in a bubble. Knowing that your very survival in the game depends on retaining and delivering baby Mario to the end of each level, you must recover Mario and keep him safe from danger. All the way, instead of just squashing your foes, as with Super Mario World, you can ingest your opponent by latching onto your opponent with your sticky tongue and pulling them into your mouth. In addition, you can lay eggs and throw them at foes, which is odd because isn't Yoshi a male? Okay, so sea horse males carry their embryo offspring, so I suppose that Yoshi is exceptional like sea horses (and whatever other animals about which I am ignorant).

Yoshi's Island also departs from its predecessors in how it is rendered; the foreground of each level is an oddly harmonious mix of digitized platform elements and ground textures painted as with watercolors and broad black strokes. The background is a bit more reminiscent of Super Mario World with rich and intricate details, yet with virtual brushstrokes that sometimes engender the feeling of strolling through some kind of digital painting. The bad guys range from the familiar mask-wearing guys from Super Mario Brothers 2 (the North American version, that is) to spitting fish and even end bosses that seem to be full of hot air. Yoshi's Island also departs from its predecessors with its music, which benefitted from the capabilities of the SNES with many layers of melody and rhythm. In 1995, I'm sure that players of Yoshi's Island may have been blown away when considering that, only 10 years previous, the music had come a long way from the simple, albeit memorable melodies of the original Super Mario Brothers. If anything, I'd liken this game's music to a much more upbeat Super Metroid or even a game that was released around the time of Super Metroid: The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past.

Speaking of Super Metroid, level navigation is also a departure; you don't just go from left to right, but up, down, and all over the place. There are also numerous secret staircases and passageways to challenge the seasoned platformer. Moreover, the jumps and movements require precision and practice, much like Yoshi's Island's ancestors, but the ante is raised with even more frantic platform movements. Added to the tricky gameplay is the concept of non-linear level progress. Watching a playthrough on YouTube, I am reminded of Super Metroid in the ability to retrace your steps in a particular level, though you don't seem to revisit past rooms to find new items that are now attainable because of previously-acquired abilities like in Super Metroid. That said, Yoshi can acquire some nifty abilities as the game progresses, such as blasting tunnels out of rock and those allow you to advance more readily.

This review does not do justice to Yoshi's Island. Since I recently acquired this game, I have yet to scratch the surface of this adventure, but what I've seen thus far has impressed me immensely. As with many games of the past, there is much more challenge (and sometimes cheese) than today's games. I believe that many children and adults are missing out on some of those classic gems, like Super Metroid, Link to the Past, Sonic & Knuckles, and Yoshi's Island. Furthermore, games on the SNES (and some on the Genesis) were able to save your progress, so gaming in the mid-90s had hit that sweet spot of being able to play a meaningful game for a good amount of time, yet being able to walk away and enjoy your day, knowing that you could continue where you left off tomorrow or next week. Nowadays, games are so engrossing and so entrancing that people wile away consecutive days on-screen. Because of this, I continue to mine the past for treasures like Yoshi's Island: games that are wonderfully challenging but easy to set aside for other things, like Euro-style board games.

Settlers of Canaan: 1HN Catan Redux

Among Christians, there seems to be a trend towards taking "secular" games and adding a Judeo-Christian flavor to it. The obvious examples of this are such games as Bible Scattergories and Bible Taboo (which is funnily ironic name), but some lesser-known ones are Ark of the Covenant, which was based on Carcassonne, and Redemption, which was the Christian community's response to Magic: The Gathering (it was not a copy of its gameplay, but it copied the collectability of Magic). Yet another prime example is Settlers of Canaan, which is the spitting image of Settlers of Catan.

Settlers of Canaan is, by and large, the same game as Catan. Much like Catan, the Settlers of Canaan board is laid out in hexagons with each one producing one of five resources: grain, sheep, wood, clay, and ore; and, each hex has a number from 2 to 12. You start off with placing a settlement and a road at the vertices of three hexagons. After each player has laid out two settlements and two roads (the two settlements may or may not connect to each other), they gather up one card for each resource their settlements touch. Then, gameplay begins. For those who are familiar with Catan, Canaan is very similar: a player rolls two dice, and then all players, including the rolling player, collect resource cards for each hex that their settlements touch that matches the number rolled. After that, the current player gets to trade resources with other players and build settlements, cities, and roads, or acquire development cards depending on which resources he or she possess. Canaan's Development cards are also similar to Catan's development cards, except that there are "Priest" cards instead of "Knight" cards and there are thematic cards that are similar in effect to Catan cards, but named differently. As in Catan, Canaan has bonuses for the longest road (two points) and most priests (two points). There are also developments that award victory points, just as in Catan. 

It would be too easy to state that Catan and Canaan are essentially the same game, but there are four key differences. The first difference is that the hexes in Canaan are fixed in position on a gameboard, whereas the hexes and numbers are randomly placed at the start of each game in Catan. This gives Catan a fresh feel every game, while Canaan's board is set (yet sufficiently balanced in its placement of resources, in my opinion). The second difference is that the Canaan has Jerusalem and its wall at the lower part of the board; players can add a stone to the wall of Jerusalem by spending the appropriate resources during their turns. Whoever has a majority of stones in Jerusalem's wall gets a two-point bonus and a favorable trade ratio of two of any resource chosen for the "King's Blessing" in exchange for one of any other resource. The third key difference is the Robber: in Catan, if you roll a 7, you control the Robber, a nefariously black token that can be placed on a hex, rendering that hex ineffective until the Robber is moved. In addition, the player who places the Robber can then take a card from a player whose settlement is touching the occupied hex. Thus, it is called the "Robber." However, in Canaan, the Robber is called "the Plague." It works the same way as in Catan, except that a dark stone is placed in Jerusalem's wall. Lastly, there is a copper hex that provides one resource of a player's choice if a 10 is rolled and a player has a settlement touching that hex; this is somewhat minor, yet noteworthy because there is no "wild" tile in Settlers of Catan and this may affect early-game settlement placement.

Gameplay continues in Canaan until a player gains twelve victory points, which is two more than Catan, thus extending the game a bit. Points are tracked on the gameboard on a separate counter, so the need for math during the game is reduced (unlike Catan, in which there is no scoreboard and you have to constantly count people's settlements and cities). As with Catan, the accumulation of settlements and cities is important, but the most fun part of both games is negotiation. Can I get the ore and grain I need to transform my one-point settlement into a two-point city? Will someone trade me that clay I need to build that settlement? Will I get that clay and stone I need to allow me to lay that precious stone in Jerusalem so that I can take the King's Blessing from someone? All of these questions are more often solved in trading than with mere dice rolls; this is the beauty of Catan and Canaan.

The Settlers of Canaan, much like Catan, is a wonderful family game that also serves as a gateway game to more complex Euro-style games, which are often economy-based with indirect competition. In Canaan, you don't trounce your opponents as much as lock them out of certain hexes with key settlement placements. In this way, I can see how Cactus Game Design saw that they could tweak the classic Catan with a Judeo-Christian theme and it would be palatable for Christian families. I certainly understand that sentiment and am appreciative of it, but I admit that, of all games, Catan was one game that didn't need a makeover. By itself, it's a fine family game that is non-violent and only as cutthroat as the players who play it. I have played Catan and Canaan and found that Catan would be just as agreeable as Canaan, if not better because Catan has a bevy of expansions from which you can enhance the game. One thing I should mention is that I suppose that the concept of "stealing" wasn't Christian enough, so the "Robber" was changed to a "Plague, but is "Plague" really better than a "Robber?" I mean, I know that it's wrong and sinful to steal, but it's a legitimate game action to take someone's card with the Robber/Plague; if it's a legit move, is it really "robbing?" In my opinion, it is this kind of kneejerk reaction to secondary elements in games that often drives the Christian-theme market (and sells games to overly "religious" people).

This takes me to a point I made in a previous post about magic: I don't have a hard and fast rule against all references to magic in games. If magic is an integral part of a game, I make a determination about whether it would affect me and my sons or not. However, if it's an ancillary part of the game, such as it is in the Zelda video games or in such board games as Dominion, I may allow it depending on the imagery and the rules. I look at Catan in the same way when it comes to "robbing"; I know it's not stealing in the sinful sense, and I know that it's defined in the rules. Why can't we just call it "robbing" instead of a "Plague," which just sounds even more awful, in my opinion?

Appreciating the Great to Discern the Derivative

As time passes, it is confirmed for me, again and again, that the simplicity and pick-up-and-playability of "old" video games is vastly superior to the glitz and graphics of today's three-dimensional offerings. Sure, one may marvel at the visual explosion of garish hues of any PlayStation game, or guffaw at the side-splitting and muscle-tearing action of XBox Kinect or Wii games, or even be wowed by the audio saturation emanating from one's quadrophonic sound system as one plays games... well, on any of those consoles. However, I find that it is difficult to trump the quaint jaggedness of 8-bit or 16-bit sprites, the plip-ploppiness of 25-year-old game sound effects, or even the mind-bending elegance of one D-pad and two, three, or six buttons.

The reason why I am waxing nostalgic and gushing with needlessly verbose prose is because I experienced a moment of peculiar lucidity today. During a work training session, rather randomly, I asked one of the attendees (who happened to be my age) if he remembered the infinite-life trick in Super Mario Brothers for the NES. For a few seconds, the attendee (who was attending via WebEx, actually) admitted some ignorance, but then corrected himself and recalled with impressive clarity that if you jump on a certain creature (in this case, a Koopa) a certain way (on the edge of its shell as it descends stairs made of blocks), you can set up an infinite loop of life gain. Floored by his apparent recall of that tactic, I filled in the blanks of his description by noting that it happens in World 3 and results in cryptic symbols replacing numbers next to the Mario life indicator that is displayed before the start of each level.

As this moment of lucidity passed, I was reminded that though games like Super Mario Brothers were easy to learn and somewhat challenging to conquer, there were arduous aspects of the gameplay that made even seasoned gamers pause, such as trying to advance anywhere in Legend of Zelda; also, there were wondrous moments of revelation that etched indelible impressions in our psyches, such as the infinite life trick. What was revealed to me was that while the simplicity of those old games lured us into becoming fans, it was the hidden and the discoverable that kept us returning to play over and over. There was something eminently rewarding about unearthing such tricks or conquering levels of ridiculous difficulty. I contend that games today, even with their Easter eggs, hidden levels, and downloadable content do not have the payoff of  the infinite life trick, of setting the correct tree on fire, or climbing the once-inaccessible tower to find a 1-UP (a la Knuckles the Echidna). I suppose it's because these games live in the rosy-tinted world of my memories. However, when I watch my sons play the old games or I hear a co-worker describe his son's admiration of Super Mario Brothers, I realize that if we all bring up our children to appreciate the things of the past, we bless them with the gift of discerning what is great from what is derivative.

Simplicity: 1HN Better than Realism

Today, a wistful feeling has overcome me. As I see events unfold around me, I am disturbed and deeply saddened by how my beliefs are challenged and I am viewed as anachronistic and a relic for what I believe...

I'm talking about video games, of course...

Granted, some things haven't changed much since I received my first video game console (a Colecovision) thirty years ago. One thing that hasn't changed is the general popularity of video games. Back in the early 80s, Atari, Intellivison, and Colecovision were extremely popular as game commercials dominated the airwaves, store shelves were well-stocked with games, and most of the kids I knew had at least one of those systems. When the Nintendo Entertainment System came out in 1985, it was an even bigger deal; I have indelible memories of ROB the Robot and Excitebike from times I spent at my friend Brian's house. Fast-forward to now, video games are still popular among the young and now the old, as well. Another thing that hasn't changed is how video games can bring disparate social groups together. Whether it be Starcraft across the Internet or a bunch of neighborhood kids huddled around a Wii, video games unify people. A third thing that hasn't changed much is the characters. Thanks to the staying power of such icons as Mario, Sonic, Snake, Samus Aran, the Belmont family, and Earthworm Jim (he's still popular... right?!), the nostalgia of the past lives in the gloss and sheen of the superior graphics and sound of the present.

However, much has also changed with the passage of time. Some may argue that games nowadays are not as "hard," and that you don't need the practice and precision of past games to master today's games; but some may counter and say that games as less "cheesy" than, say, Ninja Gaiden II or Rush 'n Attack (of which I have a fond disdain). Some may opine about the realism of first-person-shooters and how games just seem more violent today, while some may respond that games are no less violent today than 8-bit shooters like Contra or Metal Gear; "It's not that games are more violent, but that they're just more graphic," some may observe. There is also the complexity of games today, in which you can play for hours on end and barely stratch the surface of a convoluted storyline; conversely, you could finish The Legend of Zelda in eight hours or so (which would be insane, but still...).

One cannot argue with the cliche that "the more things change, the more things stay the same." Yet, as I watch the visual and auditory quality of games escalate with improving technologies, and the sheer number of buttons and analog sticks increase with each new in-game function, I am reminded that today's games lack something that past games had in spades: simplicity. Remember the Atari 2600 with its one joystick and one button? I challenge you to find an easier game to learn, but harder game to master on the Wii than Pitfall was on the Atari with just its one button. Remember the NES with its two buttons, or the Sega Genesis with its three buttons? Remember how easy it was for an inexperienced friend to come over and play games with (or against) you on those consoles because the controls were easier to master? I challenge you to train your inexperienced friend about how to play any current EA Sports game on the XBox and its ten buttons...

Besides simplicity, which factors into what I am about to state, games of the past seem lighter by today's standards. Whereas now one can get lost in a game world and not emerge for days, I could play a Genesis game for a couple hours and then walk away and enjoy the rest of my day. In this way, games today are immersive to a fault. Of course, some may argue that The Legend of Zelda or other older RPGs were the same way, but I could walk away after a few hours. Try doing that with Mass Effect or any of those story-based games... It's difficult.

But, the most apparent difference between the games of the past and today's games is the creativity it took to render great games with such comparatively poor resolution. Compare Super Mario Bros. on the NES to Super Mario Bros. on the Wii; obviously, the Wii trumps the NES big time, but think about the limitations those Nintendo programmers had to overcome to render a classic game on the NES. For the Wii, on the other hand, the developers had much more to work with when it came to graphics and sound.

Upon reflection, my wistful feelings about video games come from remembrances of more carefree times with friends in high school or college when we sat around and laughed at buddies messing up in a game, or discussed strategy or if the Genesis or the SNES versions of games were better. I suppose that kids today may look back on 2012 when they're adults and feel the same. The interesting thing I've observed, though, is that there is a fervent attempt to make games simpler with motion capture, as with the XBox Kinect and the Wii's long-in-the-tooth wand-based controls. Perhaps, we are seeing a renaissance of simplicity in gaming, pulling in a new generation of youngsters, but I contend that the retro-charm of jaggedly rendered 8-bit characters will always transcend the smooth textures of today's sprites because, as with many things in this world, we will always look backwards and remember we could walk away from a couple hours (or less) of play and be satisfied, while one often fills the day with gaming today to get their fix. In this way, realism isn't always good, and I am saddened to see that people today put that much stock in the realism afforded to us by stellar graphics and movie-quality sound when video games are best played as a brief escape from reality.

The Legend of Zelda: 1HN Epic Questing

What else can be said about The Legend of Zelda on the NES that hasn't been said? It was a genre-defining RPG? It was a wonderfully rich game from a time when such games were rare on consoles? It has two of the most well-known videogame characters out there today -- Link and Zelda? It was easy to learn and fun to play, and yet difficult to solve and challenging to beat? All of these things have already been said, so what would the point be in writing a blog review about this game? Well, there's one reason why I'd write such a blog entry: because, like most blogs, this blog is self-indulgent, right? (wink)

Humor aside, The Legend of Zelda was one of the most important games in my collection and represents the hours of fun I spent playing it. If I remember correctly, my first introduction to The Legend of Zelda was through my friend Brian, who lent it to me in 1987. I don't remember much about how I felt playing the game, though I do remember how colorful and thick the manual was and how informative the enclosed map was. I also remember when, quite accidentally, I pressed down on the game inside my NES console to release the game without turning the power off, which wiped all the data out of memory, including Brian's saved games! When I return the games to him, he was visibly distraught. However, when I got back the Lone Wolf books I had lent him (I'll write a blog entry on these books in the future) and noticed how white-lined and bent-up the spines were, I felt that by accepting my damaged books I had paid my penance for my sad mishap. In any case, I learned a crucial lesson: turn the power off BEFORE you eject a game cartridge.

I ended up getting The Legend of Zelda for Christmas in 1988. I still have the cartridge in all its gold-plated glory, though I cannot find the manual or the map. Recently, I started up a new campaign in the game and made it through the first dungeon. As I played the game, I noted how fun it was to go from screen to screen and blasting baddies with my sword (note: you can "blast" your foes with distant sword shots if Link is at full strength), but I also noted how Link seems to move as if stuck to a grid, which can render fighting more challenging than it should be, and makes dying an all-too common occurrence. I remember beating this game in four games, but I've already died six times in my current campaign! So, it's an understatement to say that The Legend of Zelda is hard.

Even in this day and age of graphically-amazing games, I would heavily recommend The Legend of Zelda as it is on the NES. The graphics are quaint and suitable for younger kids, and even the skeletons and ghosts look "cute." Of course, if you have a conviction against such creatures in a game, then I would consider the appearance of such foes as a chance to discuss if such creatures exist. The one thing I get from this game, though, is that Link is a hero who is on a quest to rescue the princess. There aren't many missions purer than that.