As this review's been nearly six years in the making, it's only fair I cut to the chase: I still intend to bury The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword. Admittedly, I embark on this task with some trepidation: it is not a game that is outright terrible, as I have implied in the past. This is not the so-called sorcery of the previously-discussed Zelda Cycle; a carefully-evaluated 100% run does reveal it is a professionally-designed title with your typical Nintendo polish and all that, and like Twilight Princess before it, there are some good moments I dare not wish to minimize.
That does not, unfortunately, dissuade me from believing Skyward Sword is possibly the most underwhelming output from Nintendo's own studios in their entire history of game development. This is not to say it is the worst -- Donkey Kong Jr. Math and Urban Champion have endured three decades of mud-slinging for a reason -- and this excludes second-party efforts and third-party collaborations (Metroid: Other M, being worse in every way that matters, would obviously be the runaway winner).
I can't. I just can't. Look at the Japanese box art for this game. Look at that glorious Nippon representation of Kirby, and then look upwards for we got for America. I've never felt more insulted by Angry Kirby, and yet I can't go on anymore. Is there any further point in discussing the fallacy of presenting your adorable pink marshmallow as a super bad-ass despite his being an adorable pink marshmallow instantly rendering him, uh, adorable? And that's not even mentioning how much time he spends in the game either smiling or using blank expressions, as he does roughly 70% of the time in nearly every one of his appearances. It's not fair, but I can't go on. I'm spent. Way to go, NOA.
Anyway, like the rest of the industry in Fall 2011, Nintendo was draining the wallets of hapless gamers with a populated release schedule. From the first semi-new Star Fox game in five years in Star Fox 64 3D to the still-popular Mario Kart 7, it was Nintendo's busiest holiday season in over half a decade...and their most acclaimed, at that.
Let us set aside any "real 3D Mario" arguments and my own dismissal of Zelda: Skyward Sword: every member of their holiday 2011 output was a million-seller, captivating the Nintendo gaming public at large, with Star Fox 64 3D paving the way for a series reboot, Mario Kart 7 set to emulate its DS predecessor's sales records, and Super Mario 3D Land and Skyward Sword sweeping perfect/near-perfect scores across the critical board.
Relative to its peers' praise, Kirby's Return to Dream Land sticks out like a sore thumb. As seen on its Metacritic page, the game was in no shortage of criticism directed its way. This came at the surprise of no one: deviations like Canvas Curse and Epic Yarn have always caught the attention of media and gamers alike, while traditional entries tend to be dismissed as safe, far-too-easy affairs regardless of whether or not they've succeeded in maintaining Masahiro Sakurai's original goal for the series: easy to play, hard to master.
In retrospect, it's a miracle Kirby's Return to Dream Land succeededat this as well as it did; after all, it'd been in development for roughly seven-to-eleven years. Indeed, Return to Dream Land was, more or less, the fabled Kirby GCN game that up and mysteriously disappeared back in 2005, having been relegated to development hell and renovated no less than three different times before HAL Laboratory doubled-down on the final product.
Whatever the reasons were for the games' cancellations (Kirby GCN was vaguely dismissed with an imbalance between solo/multiplayer play), the eleven-year wait for a true-to-form Kirby console game was well worth it, for Kirby's Return to Dream Land was arguably Nintendo's finest 2011 entry.
Such a claim appears heresy in the face of ambitious efforts like Zelda: Skyward Sword, Super Mario 3D Land or even the competition's Elder Scrolls VI: Skyrim, particularly since the game lacks any ambitions of its own.
But that's because it didn't need any, instead staying true to its name by returning to 1996.
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Let us bask in that title for a moment: Kirby's Return to Dream Land. Doesn't that feel so good? And it's not because it bears any context on the game's narrative; after all, that's just the name exclusive to American audiences. No, it's what it stands for the game itself that matters. For all the ups and downs Kirby had over the past decade, he's given the chance to properly return to his roots. Here, there are no more half-baked gimmicks and level design devaluing the brand, no--however successful--ambitious deviations from the tried-and-true formula, and no retreads on beloved adventures of days past.
In other words, it's a return to the Dream Land created so long ago by Mr. Sakurai. He may've not laid a finger on the game's design, but the philosophies from Kirby's Adventure and Kirby Super Star blossom from every design choice: plush aesthetics framed within dreamy fantasy, a plethora of multi-fledged copy abilities, numerous avenues for multiplayer play and content upon content upon content.
If you're paying attention, you'll recognize several of the aforementioned features were exclusive to either Adventure or Super Star. The beauty of Return to Dream Land is that it's not satisfied with just blending them together; it wants to surpass where Sakurai left off back in 1996. For all its new ideas and embracing of series history, at its core Return to Dream Land feels lifted right from the 90's.
In an era where New Super Mario Bros. Wii sought to bring audiences together and Donkey Kong Country Returns awed players with its level design, this could result as disappointingly safe, and yet it's something of a miracle Return to Dream Land is not that. It strikes a wondrous balance with the old and the new, all the while borrowing the ideas of its sidescrolling peers to translate the Kirby brand for Wii.
This isn't a dig against Kirby's Epic Yarn, by the way; if pressed between the two, I'd pick Good Feel's effort as being the stronger title. And yet, there's just no denying the gradual ascension of excitement that opens Return to Dream Land: we spot this firsthand when we're given control, when game starts out in a Kirby's Adventure-styled hub where players new and experienced can feel out the controls.
But by the first level's end, we're blown away by a whirlwind of new mechanics and design. By shaking the Wii Remote, Kirby's gusty inhale becomes a ferocious cyclone that swallows multiple enemies at once. The Super Abilities, amplified versions of certain Copy Abilities obtained through glowing enemies, rampage through levels in a ferocity never seen before in Kirby. At the end of Kirby's killing spree, we uncover dimensional warpholes that thrust our hero into a mad escape from an ominous anti-matter scrolling screen.
The momentum successfully carries throughout the rest of Cookie Country. For the first time since Kirby's Dream Land, items appear to aid Kirby and co. on their quest. Crackers shoot bombs while the Stomper Boots provide some addictive timing via bouncy acupuncture footwear. Entertaining as they are on their own, all are expertly designed around puzzles to nab the game's collectibles (Energy Spheres).
As opposed to an overhaul of the mechanics ala Epic Yarn, Return for Dream Land opts for building upon the core mechanics. That the showstopping likes of Super Abilities and Dimensional Holes compose the game's organics render it not a Squeak Squad misfire, but allow it to sit comfortably alongside the evolutionary achievements of Adventure and Super Star. Granted, that the game arrives after years of mixed efforts and remakes leaves a stronger impact, but that it's this good is what makes it go above and beyond.
In particular, the evolution of Copy Abilities are on a level not seen since Super Star. The new powers--Water, Leaf, Spear and Whip--all echo that game in their flexibility, be it the delightful excess of Spear/Whip maneuvers or going a step beyond with environmental effects (Water automatically surfs on, well, water). We've seen occasional winners in the years since Super Star-- notably Smash, Missile and Squeak Squad's version of Magic--yet hardly any scratch the depth and personality found here.
Meanwhile, one-trick ponies like Stone or limited efforts like Ninja always stood out in Super Star's plethora of powers, but you'd hardly recognize their transformations here. Stone, Needle, Hi-Jump and Tornado are now fully-fledged behemoths, whereas Ninja is complete with all sorts of ninja tropes. The lengths of HAL's polish know no bounds, for even 1-hit wonders like Mike and Crash or the adorably useless Sleep are supplied with new tricks (Mike being a animation standout solely for the visual of a headbanging Kirby--all the while sporting a 90's mohawk).
With such care given to the Copy Abilities, it's no surprise they don't forget to design the levels around Super Abilities. As fun as it is to scorch landscapes with Monster Flame and slice the opposition with Ultra Sword, the Wii Remote-shaking thrill of Grand Hammer and Snow Bowl render them the most involved, and therefore, the most exciting. The latter in particular recalls the best of the Giant Snowball from Kirby 64 in how it not only absorbs everyone in your path (the hapless Dream Landers!), but with the added bonuses of demolishing giant sandcastles and bowling pins.
This emphasis on environmental destruction breeds new territory for Kirby, one that would be expanded upon in Return to Dream Land's successors. On a thematic level, it places a humorous spotlight on the senseless devastation often sugarcoated by Kirby's dreamy sweetness; on a gameplay level, there's nothing funner, and the way it makes room for even the little things is impressive. The Star Spit, once Kirby's only attack, can be upgraded relative to the number of enemies that fall victim to the Super Inhale. The potential result is a massive star cluster that plows through baddies, blocks and bosses alike; in that sense, I guess they're not little things after all.
I mentioned earlier about Return to Dream Land being a blend of Super Star/Adventure design philosophies, which is best described as the game possessing Super Star gameplay with Adventure level design. While Super Star's gameplay dominates over Adventure, the latter's emphasis on a sole campaign allowed for a consistent level progression aimed for beginner/expert audiences (not that Super Star didn't appeal to the same audience, but the sub-games aren't exactly sequels to one another).
Return to Dream Land takes this design philosophy to heart, even so much as lifting sequences straight from the NES classic, all the while tuning it to the multiplayer experience. Super Star was the first Kirby game to feature multiplayer, but this takes more pages from GBA games, where different-colored Kirbys could join in on the fun. More parallels still can be drawn from its Nintendo Wii contemporaries, where players can hitch a ride via stacking, perhaps screw each other over via Super Inhale, and control unique characters in the form of King Dedede, Meta Knight, and Bandanna Waddle Dee (all of whom had me frothing at the mouth following E3 2011).
Kirby isn't as physics-bound as Super Mario, so it's something that cannot fully mimic the innate hijinks of New Super Mario Bros. Wii; however, that plays into its strengths. Kirby doesn't emphasize platforming perils ala NSMBWii and Donkey Kong Country Returns, so anyone can keep up with the action (and in rare case you can't, you can always count on stacking onto a good player). In addition, the presence of items can either emphasize teamwork or brew chaos depending on their properties.
It's certainly one of the finer examples of Wii's later emphasis on co-op play--the convenience of simply jumping in via Wii Remote puts it a step above most--and yet it doesn't reach the perfection of Super Star's two-player. The one oversight lies in what's carefully crafted for single-player play: Super Abilities. Their function requires one person doing all the work, while the others sit around reduced to trailing behind whoever's a superhero. I imagine mileage on this has varied; it never ruined my couch multiplayer sessions, yet I could feel my companions growing a tad listless as I razed hill after hill.
This isn't a problem with every power--Snow Bowl saves the day by also scooping up players--and Dedede, Meta Knight, and Waddle Dee at least alleviate the problem somewhat in how they perform certain moves that Kirby cannot with their respective weapons (Hammer, Sword, and Spear). So while every not player is treated as an equal, it still remains a great co-op romp; actually some may raise credible arugments that the importance placed upon player one--such as he or she burdening the team's lives--may be beneficial for newer players as well as further emphasizing teamwork to protect that player. To HAL's credit, they were also very open on their struggles with the multiplayer design.
Do the accompanying aesthetics and sound make any missteps of their own? At the very least, I cannot even begin imagining criticizing the former: Dream Land is as plush and delectable as it was in the 90's, with squat, expressive roly-polys hopping about in environments bursting with such delicious, mouth-watering color. Once again, I can safely say I would like to nibble on the world of Kirby.
But it's not all about eye candy. Backgrounds like the enigmatic ice ruins of White Wafers make us want to know more, while Nutty Noon's soaring ribbons and overhead views may be just as cathartic and calming as the best of Sakurai's Kirby. It's perhaps the last of Nintendo's Wii games that maintains not just a consistently vivid look, but builds a compelling world to house it all in.
Which is all the better that Return to Dream Land embraces series lore. It's not that Kirby hasn't ever relied on plot and the like, but this is the first time Dream Land has been granted this level of a "lived-in" world, let alone a canon (this is present in Epic Yarn, but much of it surrounds Patch Land). Be it the pause screen descriptions of bosses or cryptic conversations with the mysterious wayfarer Magolor, it functions not on the level of Zelda world-building, but on a Mario level of "Oh, that's how that works"(or, in the case of the latter, "they're referencing THAT?").
It answers questions, but leaves enough to the imagination for our minds to answer, right down to discovering Meta Knight's favorite past-time: appreciating literature on a fine sunny day. The obvious question is what he's reading, but I personally wonder about the logistics of a Dream Land printing press. Gosh, I sure hope minimum-wage labor is fair to all Waddle Dees, and that's assuming it even exists at all.
Naturally, a return to Dream Land requires the musical presence of Jun Ishikawa and Hirokazu Ando, the original composers who introduced the music of Kirby's dreams to the world. Putting aside their large rate of success here, even if Return to Dream Land wasn't actually designed as Kirby's return, I can't help but feel that theme's reflected through the soundtrack.
I mean, it can't be coincidence it's there right when the game starts, right? This joyous song immediately greets us at the title screen (and later as the hub theme for Cookie Country), while seguing to a parade of trumpets and chimes in The Adventure Begins. It all signals a grand return to the world of Kirby, and as I always take the time to observe game title screens, that this pulled me in straight away was a great sign (and if you don't laugh at Dedede making faces at Kirby...well, there's just no hope for you).
The aforementioned ascension of that first level is effective primarily because of the Super Ability theme: Bring On The Super Ability. An orchestral theme of passionate valor, the way it accompanies Kirby's wrath injects such intense invigoration that it's impossible not to smile when in control. Truly, it operates on a level of incitement never before seen in Kirby.
Which is vaguely echoed by Looming Darkness, which plays during our peek into the realm of the Sphere Doomers. It signals that of desperate survival, urging the player desperately onward with its otherworldly instruments and sounds. It's the perfect complement to the grayscale dimension, full of passing solar systems and constellations.
But let us not forget that Kirby is home to the wistful and the melancholy, and Return to Dream Land turns to those themes in its later stretches. Aurora Area concludes the chilly recesses of White Wafers, bringing a touch of mystery and awe at the ruins. While it may be populated with the likes of Galbos and Chillys, the cold, windy howls of its accompanying theme instill an ever-present lonely ambiance.
However, such melancholy does not hold a candle to the pure joy of my favorite song: Sky Waltz. A mix of recorders and violins greet Nutty Noon as players fly over Dream Land and witness a wondrous view of the landscape below. Borrowing a page from Epic Yarn, it purposely elicits a sense of nostalgia that easily meshes with our wonder, rendering its accompanying level the very best in the entire game (which, when considering it has no Super Abilities or dimensional rifts of any sort, is no small feat).
Really, there's so many strong songs that I feel guilty about not sharing, be it all the rousing boss themes or an especially dreamy take on a Kirby's Adventure song. The entirety of the game's soundtrack successfully hits all the best of what makes Kirby,well, Kirby: orchestral triumphs, techno rhythms and sweet, soft nostalgia.
...which renders it all the more bizarre whenever it misses the mark. There's a number of real average tracks that either border on the overt childishness that Kirby's supposed to avoid (Walking in the Sea, as well as, disappointingly, the level-ending version of the *Kirby Dance theme) or serve to undermine their scenic set-pieces (the Caving song above). These misfires aren't enough to knock the game down from the upper echelons of Kirby soundtracks--let alone diminish its incredible highs--but its lack of consistency makes it miss the very top.
If I must continue harping on flaws--much as it pains me to do so--the lack of Dedede, Meta Knight and Bandanna Waddle Dee in single-player may also be a missed opportunity. While I understand the levels are designed around Kirby, only having them playable in The Arena feels like a waste. I can't help but imagine it could've made for some fun 100% goal completion (a 2D precursor to Super Mario 3D World, perhaps?)
But my hopes for Return to Dream Land weren't about whether or not it could succeed Adventure or Super Star; it all hinged on whether or not it successfully revitalized and built upon the Sakurai-era Kirby games for a modern age. This review should speak to its achievements at doing so, but I cannot speak highly enough at what it does surpass: the multiplayer mini-games, most notably in how Scope Shot far surpasses most console Kirby efforts even on a solo level; the Extra Mode, absolutely the series' most complete, fulfilling and even unpredictable since Kirby's Dream Land; the balance of difficulty for players new and old, as I still haven't obtained all the Platinum Medals for the addictive, hair-raising Challenge Rooms.
As a whole, its cohesion isn't glued as tightly as two of the 90's finest sidescrollers, but its highs in emulating, building upon and sometimes even surpassing what came before deliver a title that, against all odds, mingled successfully in an era of HD-developed products and AAA names. It being a densely-packaged adventure certainly helped, but it proves that time-tested gameplay can continue winning over audiences so long as they stick to not merely to the conventions of a brand, but by daring to improve the design philosophies behind it.
Fellow Kirby megafanJim Sterling once said "video games simply do not get any more pure" than Kirby's Return to Dream Land. How delightful that in a sea of open-worlds and motion-control, HAL Laboratory found it necessary to give us a title that stood up and declared "I am from the 16-bit era." That it has since initiated and set the example for the current Golden Age of Kirby is of the highest honor.
*On the flipside, I should mention the boss version of the Kirby Dance theme more than makes up for the regular one if only because it's clearly based on the GBA games. Ah, the warm scent of 2002's holiday season!
2011, where--No. NO. NOOOOOOOO. Oh, real funny NOA; way to build me up and knock me down with a dreadful one-two Angry Kirby combo. I mean, good god, this is easily the worst offender yet; just look at Kirby's uncharacteristic expression. I'd say this is one of this rare instances where the Japanese cover probably wouldn't gel with Western shelves, yet Europe seemed to deal just fine with it. Granted, they also got Freshly Picked Tingle's Rosy Rupeeland, so I suppose us Yanks have to deal with our violence-appealing culture and Kirby's attempts at the DreamWorks eyebrow.
But I digress. Anyway, 2011 brought the first of many problems that would plague Nintendo over the next half-decade: how to properly promote their new hardware. In this instance, the 3DS's March release was diluted by the annual iterations of the DS and DSi; unfortunately, this meant consumers couldn't tell it was actually a brand new console (that, and why would parents buy a new handheld when their kids received a DSi XL the previous Christmas?). Combined with how it was clearly rushed for launch--mainly with the weak launch line-up alongside the unavailability of the eShop--and the impending threat of mobile gaming, it was a rough start for the successor of the world's greatest-selling handheld.
Cue the following summer, which brought more confusing announcements in the form of Wii U and what is perhaps the quickest turnaround apology in video game history. Apologizing profusely for the 3DS's slow sales, president Satoru Iwata announced a price-cut that would not only halve his salary, but would offer twenty free downloadable games from NES and GBA libraries for those who had already bought the handheld. Alas, it would prove not to be the last of Iwata's miscalculations, and one thing was coming clear: Nintendo's dominance over the casual market was starting to wane.
Let it be known that while 3DS is undoubtedly yours truly's favorite handheld console of all time, the DS was in no rush to be replaced in early 2011. Pokémon Black and White was released just before the successor's release in all territories, and our favorite pink puffball wasn't ready to make the jump, either. The DS had served him quite well, and while HAL suggested otherwise, perhaps he felt it owed the handheld one last hurrah.
The ensuing title, Kirby Mass Attack, is something of an anomaly. It was the first mainline Kirby game to completely abandon the series' trademark Copy Ability in favor of an entirely new mechanic, one that transforms the game into something hardly resembling Kirby at all. We can trace elements of more offbeat entries like Epic Yarn and Canvas Curse back to the source material, but Mass Attack operates on a completely different scale barring its 2D gameplay. This, along with how more eyes were on Wii's Kirby's Return to Dream Land--which would release only a month later in most territories--led to Mass Attack having a muted launch...or did it?
As we'll learn in the next Reverie, fall 2011 was a jam-packed season for games, with The Legend of Zelda Skyward Sword and The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim leading the pack. However, just like 2002's miraculous one-two Metroid revival, two back-to-back Kirby games somehow survived unscathed with a million copies under their respective belts. The new era of Kirby kickstarted by Super Star Ultra was about to transform again, and it would take one final push from this experimental title to launch it.
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If you're not familiar with Kirby Mass Attack, you've probably guessed that the related horde of Kirbys running around is why the game functions so differently. After being split into ten bodies by the nefarious Necrodeus, only one escapes his wrath to stumble upon the star-shaped embodiment of the original Kirby's heart. The heart is what the player controls via stylus, as the Kirbys--who grow in number by collecting food--follow wherever it goes.
Needless to say, it's an innately adorable concept that gels perfectly with the cuddly-cute image of Kirby. The enigma of Kirby's sweetness cancelling out its basely horrifying concept--a pink blob swallowing everything in sight--is channeled properly here, as the ten Kirbys rampage about in their efforts to put themselves back together. Its execution brims with ideas, hardly any of them having much to do with Kirby's original concepts. Mechanics like the Copy Ability and Kirby's infinite floatiness were designed primarily to help anyone reach the goal, and with those stripped away, there's no crutch for beginners to rely on. It takes raw skill to overcome its trials.
The implications are clear in that Kirby Mass Attack is the hardest game in series history. We've had rough patches in outliers like Kirby's Dream Land 2, but none have demanded such constant focus and demand as managing up to ten separate Kirbys at once. Even the generous compensations it makes for the series' intended audience aren't easy hurdles; for instance, take the way it handles damage/revival. Each Kirby can take two hits before it floats up to the afterlife, but a carefully-aimed Kirby fling via touch screen will send the soul crashing down to earth fully revived.
A fair enough trade, but not one that's guaranteed. As the game progresses, the Kirbys will be inundated with projectiles, enemy hordes and moving screens of death to the extent where it's nearly impossible to multitask. That's not a mark on the game; after all, it's the only way the game can raise the stakes. Mass Attack is not overtly difficult by itself, but I can certainly imagine a child struggling with the concept far more than the likes of Kirby's Adventure or Kirby's Epic Yarn, and it's in an entirely different league should you aim for 100% completion. This should go against the very grain of the series--and as explained with the difficulty, it does--but it's actually quite fascinating to witness how far HAL's willing to stretch the series' goals and conventions via such an oddball concept.
Let us not mince words: much like the days of Shinichi Shimomura, Mass Attack is a B-Team effort made by HAL's B-Team. Unlike Mr. Shimomura's works, however, I struggle in pinpointing any specific design flaws in Mass Attack. I mean, I guess I could, but most of its drawbacks result from the more overt shortcomings of its producers than anything else. I say this with no offense whatsoever; I'm more than willing to be lenient with an experimental Kirby (I mean, it's hardly the first),and that I cannot pick apart specific flaws as a functioning game speaks to Mass Attack's quality.
Really, I guess what I'm trying to say is...well, let's just start with the gameplay. Naturally, the first question that arises from such a concept is that "Is it hard to control?". Not at all, and considering the disorderly Kirby horde I'm actually surprised the touch controls register so smoothly. Most, if not all, of the Kirbys were felled due to my error as a player, not from any misguided controls or slacking AI. They quickly react to the stylus and loyally follow the star wherever it goes.
That, and it's great fun. Copy Abilities may be sitting out again, but who cares when you have an army of Kirbys ready to swarm and piledrive everything in sight? Be it meticulously aiming for airborne enemies or simply swarming helpless Beanbons, Mass Attack operates with such vigorous, calculated chaos that could very well be the side-scrolling lovechild of Kirby and Pikmin. (In fact, I'd even say for fans of the latter like me, it leaves us wondering how a 2D Pikmin would operate...)
Adjectives like "meticulous" are interesting here since they provide such an intriguing contrast to Kirby's core. Make no mistake: this is just as much of a sugar-rush as the rest of the series, but that it's underscored by constant micromanagement provides not just a gripping challenge, but a different level of engagement we've never seen before from Kirby. For instance, levels are gated according to the number of Kirbys you possess, so letting KO'd Kirbys go or passing by food is not an option.
Furthermore, the concept demands objective-based level design, and Mass Attack delivers. As mentioned previously, where Mass Attack does succeed is its progressive ascension. Simply observe how the game is bookended: the opening levels have the Kirbys working together to pull out giant radishes to scrambling around an alien spaceship for blueprints of their extraterrestrial vehicle by the game's end. The latter concept is particularly inspired by how open-ended it is: you don't have to get all the blueprints if you don't want to, but you'll hardly have enough manpower for the inspired shoot-em'-up section at the end (not to mention your chances for earning medals).
Generally, Kirby Mass Attack is at its best when it foregoes sidescrolling conventions and does its own thing. Just take my favorite level courtesy of Sandy Canyon: 2-5, where the Kirbys ride in the Balloon Bobbleship--a basket hung by a plethora of balloons--as they dodge incoming spiky Gordos who threaten to pop the balloons. The vessel is sensitive to movement, as while it's steered from left to right by guiding the Kirby crowd from one side to the other, the rickety movement can send any one of them flying off without notice. It's exciting, heartpounding, and challenging all in one.
It's not that the instances of semi-regular sidescrolling greatly pale in comparison or anything, but the problem is that there's an awful lot of it. Levels tend to go on far longer than they should, and unless they break convention like the aforementioned UFO level, the game gets a little long in the tooth. This is especially troubling considering Mass Attack's abnormally large level-to-world ratio: each typically features 11 stages, and with only four worlds to venture--with a final one that's essentially a boss rush--the presentation of a confined, yet bloated context paves the way for some troubling flaws.
As already mentioned, the game does succeed in building upon ideas as it goes: Dedede Resort is a boon of mini-games and some great ice-related levels, and I dare not spoil the rest of Volcano Valley's surprises. No, Mass Attack's issues lie in how they're all framed. The "B-team" qualities are never stronger than they are in the accompanying visuals and sound, which rank among the lowest in the Kirby canon. They're hardly enough to cripple the game on its own terms, mind, but that they're this forgettable is a betrayal to the game's wondrous concept.
Case in point: the backgrounds. It's worth reminding 2D Kirby games have blended sprites and CGI in their backgrounds for a decade prior to Mass Attack. Here, the entirety of Mass Attack is sprite-based, with not a speck of pre-rendered models to be found. I can only imagine this was done in regards to the game's overabundance of sprites, hence the relative lack of detail.
The problem is that Mass Attack's world is that for all its color, it's uniformly boring. Whereas the likes of Nightmare in Dream Land, Squeak Squad and Super Star Ultra had their occasional misstep in aesthetic stinkers, nearly every one of Mass Attack's backgrounds lies in a safe model I have no use for. This is not the plush, dreamy reveries we've come to love from Kirby, but rather generic stock fantasy that you'd maybe spot on a Easter Bunny chocolate wrapper.
About the only inspired setpieces lie in the Dedede Resort, home to fun imagery consisting of pineapple islands and puzzle-piece domes. Not pictured are the Dedede-shaped funhouses, which always delight in their signalling of an upcoming mini-game (and further displaying the narcissistic ego of everyone's favorite royal penguin).
I must also call attention to the world map, which has never made an ounce of sense to me. For the uninitiated, Pop Star is supposed to be yellow, as stars typically are in children's properties; here, it's blue. I can only assume they're emphasizing the ocean surrounding the Popopo Islands, but it's rendered all the more bizarre since you witness Pop Star in all its yellow brightness during the ending.
For the record, I can't say I attribute Mass Attack's aesthetic issues entirely within its sprite-based confines; after all, the sprite animation works just fine (just watch the idle Kirbys!) with plush characters that easily fit within the world of Kirby. It's really more the art style that disappoints, as its limited detail cannot pick up the slack of the low world count. The game tries to subvert this by cramming numerous environmental tropes within each one, but even the likes of haunted graveyards and icy caverns beg the question if they didn't deserve worlds of their own.
Then there's the matter of music, which does break my heat a little. Look, let's be absolutely reasonable here: Shogo Sakai is not, in any way, a B-level composer, as attested by his work on Mother 3 (his masterpiece), Kirby Air Ride and the Smash Bros. series. Unfortunately, his first solitary Kirby work in Mass Attack is up there with his Squeak Squad collaboration as the weakest of his Nintendo output. While thankfully there's not a trace of GBA recycling to be found, the soundtrack's something of a mystifying mixed bag.
Which is all the more disappointing when considering how the game's main themes initially promise great things. Kirby Collecting is a joyously bombastic mix of percussion and vocals that greets the player at the title screen, instantly guaranteeing earworm hell over the ensuing week. The in-game variation, Meadow Breeze, carries the title's momentum with a lighter tone, as banjos and accordions come together to encapsulate the game's active energy.
An energy that, sadly, isn't consistently carried throughout the soundtrack. It's not so much terrible as it is forgettable; so forgettable, in fact, I struggle in highlighting any one weak track over the rest (and I have the game's Sound Player right in front of me!). It comes across as Sakai recognizing the concept calls for overtly-peppy, vigorous tracks that rouse the player into action, but fears of treading too much on that line in the event of carbo-loaded burnout.
This isn't to say there aren't such tracks in Mass Attack's repertoire, and as expected, they're the soundtrack's standouts. There are excellent Kirby Air Ride cameos, for one, but we must not lose focus of what's actually new. Snowy Zone and Ruins Ahead, the former as featured above, are genuinely spirited representations of their respective environments, and Fetching Fruit is undeniably the driving force of what makes its respective sections so fun.
The problem here lies in balance. Such fun bombast is far too few and between, and when that a) directly correlates with the theme behind the game and b) is drowned by tracks that don't stir much emotion at all (let alone evocative of Kirby), that's something of a shame.
But let us not be too harsh on Mass Attack. Any failures in visuals or sound cannot override its solid foundation in gameplay, and I ultimately forgive its missteps thanks to its one upholding of a certain Kirby creed: it remembers that Kirby games must be stuffed full of content; specifically, the mini-games. Mass Attack presents no less than six of the little buggers, and even then I pause at labeling them all as "little".
To the point, the volume of function and eye candy found in the likes of Kirby Brawlball (Kirby's second take at a pinball venture), Strato Patrol EOS (a multi-pronged shoot-em'-up) and Kirby Quest (a pseudo-RPG filled to the brim with fanservice) are particularly impressive. Much like how Kirby Triple Deluxe's sub-games would go on to be eShop purchases, it's very easy to see these three games polished up for digital release, and that's not even getting into how the latter two expertly weave the main game's ten Kirbys mechanic into their own domain.
This is not to sweep the other three mini-games under the rug; as a matter of fact, I appreciate Kirby Curtain Call's hilarious efforts to screw over the player (think about it: why does it have peaches mingling with the crowd?) as well as Field Frenzy's difficulty options offering a compelling crutch for its simple concept. It's an incredibly well-rounded selection of extras, enough to possibly render it the strongest mini-game collection in Kirby history.
No small feat for an experimental Kirby title, you understand, and perhaps that's where my forgiveness with Mass Attack's flubs stand. This is not a Kirby game that paves the way for the series' future, but is instead yet another attempt to see how far the series' elasticity can stretch. Some elements do not pick up the slack in doing so (the visuals and music), but everything else from the execution and creativity of its main campaign, its wonderful selection of mini-games and time-wasters and being the first and only Kirby game with an achievement system render it not only a success, but as one of the last great DS titles.
When Ico begins, we're treated to a long cinematic of tribesmen escorting a peculiar young boy with horns protruding from his head. Emerging from a forest, they approach an ancient castle first on horseback, then enter its watery underside with a small boat. Stairs are climbed, elevators are ridden and magic swords cast aside door-blocking golems until they reach their destination: a hall of sarcophaguses. As if sentient, one of the stone coffins has already foreseen their arrival, brimming to life with an ominous blue light. It opens its maw, ready to participate in the ritual.
"Do not be angry with us," says one of the guardsmen to the horned boy in a foreign tongue, "this is for the good of the village."
The boy's lack of resistance implies he's already resigned to his fate, but when a mysterious quake shakes the castle, inspiration strikes. He tugs at his restraints just as the stone flooring beneath him crumbles, breaking the sarcophagus and tumbling him out. He rises to his feet and absorbs his surroundings.
Then the player assumes control, and that's it. No control tutorial, no HUD, no signs blaring "THIS IS THE WAY OUT!". We're simply left to figure out what to do with this horned boy in the enigmatic castle.
Having first played Ico's spiritual successor (the masterpiece Shadow of the Colossus) many years before, this came as something of a shock. For all the similarities in tone and visuals, Shadow of the Colossus gives you a purpose, a destination and a couple weapons by the end of the first cinematic. In Ico, we have nothing, and so we are left as confused and aimless as the horned boy we control.
All in part to designer Fumito Ueda, perhaps gaming's most humble auteur. In subscribing to "subtracted game design", Ueda's sense of granting immersion remains unchallenged in this industry. The elements of story, color and sound are tantalizingly minimized, beating just beneath the surface of a deceptively simple game. The world of Ico is outwardly defined by simple puzzles and a simple story, yet it's howthe game is constructed around that captivates us.
Take what happens after the aforementioned beginning, when Ico, the horned boy, rescues another child in captivity: an older girl with otherworldly snow-white skin wearing wispy clothes. The girl, Yorda, also speaks a foreign language, but as shown by subtitles, it's one entirely different from Ico's. It's only by linking hands do they recognize a mutual goal: to escape.
So sets the contextual stage for Ico. In navigating the castle, Ico and Yorda are in consistent physical contact, as they cannot escape without the other despite their respective weaknesses. Note how this very fact allows Ico to subvert typical gaming tropes; for instance, take how the game handles combat. There's no elaborate combo system or leveling-up, for despite having horns, Ico is no different from any other boy. The only means he has in fending off the shadow men that chase the pair around is picking up the nearest torch or sword and swinging away. What would be shallow and repetitive in any other game complements the world Ico builds.
But the game's vision never obstructs the actual gameplay, as seen in the case of Yorda. As only she can magically open the idol gates strewn about the castle, her frailty doesn't override her importance. But she's still left vulnerable most times, and as escort missions are often frowned upon in games (typically in their being slow and how often your partners get lost), it can be easy to dismiss Ico as being basically just one big fat embodiment of that unpopular trope. Yet Yorda never feels like a burden: the essential call button pans the camera over to her in times of progression or in frantic attempts to spot her when the shadow men attack. But as she's still too weak to swim and climb ropes, you can't rely on that button forever.
Guided by meticulous design, such subtle clues beg the player further into Ico's embrace. Growing so accustomed to its spare color palette--gray, black, white, and brown--we gasp when we see the first traces of green grass. The foreboding nightmare that is the shadow men theme makes us shiver at how subdued it is. We wonder if we've seen Yorda's powers somewhere before.
It goes without saying that Ico is an acquired taste. We could say the game gives as much as the player wants, but wouldn't the game's presentation be more active if that were the case? It's because Ico is so sparse in detail that we're given no choice but to analyze everything going on around the pair. If Shadow of the Colossus balanced thrill, immersion and pathos, then Ico juggles only the last two while honing in on something resembling critical thinking.
Shadow of the Colossus evokes such thoughts too, mind, but consider how that game largely consists of tragedy while Ico follows all the beats of a fairy tale. There's an evil queen, acts of love and companionship that save the day, and a nebulous happy ending. What's amazing about Ico is the density packed into these wafer-thin concepts; the queen's plot, for instance, isn't so uncommon in the realm of fiction. Instead, it's how this ill-fated goal is nearly achieved that reveals such a poignant darkness. It's something not explicitly told, but instead shown in a chilling pre-final battle sequence. All I'll say is that a second playthrough will require much pity unto the shadow "men".
But can a game like this have replay value? Seeing as how much extensive analysis has been performed onto the game, I can only conclude that what I've discovered in Ico will continue to branch off and grow in ways I never imagined. Much as it saddened me at times, such a thought excites me to return to the castle at some point and further scrutinize.
And to listen, too. The use of music in Ico is sparse too, but shown above is the game's single point of solace: Heal, which plays whenever Ico and Yorda rest upon the save benches. True to its purpose, it is the faintest of lullabies, free from the darkness and utter isolation the rest of the game's chilling soundtrack provides.
I bring the subject of replay up considering I get the feeling my opinion on Ico is not wholly complete. At the moment, I don't think it's quite the masterpiece Shadow of the Colossus is. That Ico compels me to dig beneath its simple surface is a wonderful feat of game design, yet its successor is such a leap in not just gameplay and sound, but in areas Ico never dared to cross (exploration, for one thing). Yet that I'm compelled to dig even further begs the question if that leap is so big after all.
Ico remains one of the most celebrated examples of art in gaming for a reason, one that I'm glad to have enjoyed on its PS3 remaster (as opposed to allowing the dreary NA PS2 boxart to grace my household, which just...well, just look at the contemptible thing). In an age where gritty games have already lost their luster, how amazing it is that Ueda's vision still strikes home fourteen years later. Here's to hoping The Last Guardian finally comes out next year.
Origin: Pokémon Black and White Plays In: Celestial Tower, Dragonspiral Tower, Giant Chasm Status: Composition
Composer/s: Shota Kageyama
More Pokémon music? More Pokémon music.
Believe it or not, I actually still play Pokémon White! I'm the sort of the gamer who likes to set up my gaming schedule, see, and every Wednesday I switch between it and Pokemon X while I'm munching on popcorn and watching subbed Dragon Ball Z straight from my precious, precious Dragon Boxes (and believe me, with the Goku vs. Freeza fight being as long as it is, you better believe I'm taking advantage of it). I've been taking my sweet time collecting every last one of those Pokémon to fill up my Pokedex, and I'm still blown away by just how incredible the land of Unova is to explore. I'd like to think Unova doesn't hold a candle to Hoenn's sheer sense of adventure, but boy does it come close.
Of course, said exploring wouldn't be nearly as fun without some great tunes. I could dive into stuff like Pinwheel Forest and Route 10, but tonight I'd like to discuss what I feel is the top song for the game: Celestial Tower. As most Pokémon songs are named after the locations they play in, it may come as a surprise to know it was originally titled Tower of Heaven in the Japanese release. While censored for the American release to avoid religious reference, it's a surprisingly poignant name given the area's purpose: a resting ground for deceased Pokémon.
Whenever I listen to this song, I'm reminded of how heartwarming the storytelling in Pokémon White was. I knew I was in for something special when I took my first step with Bianca and Cheren into Route 1. We meet the brainwashed, yet innocent child leader of an organization set on "freeing" Pokémon from their trainers, learn of the deeper meaning behind Bianca's father's desire to prevent her from travelling, and hear the tragic loss of the Champion's beloved partner Pokémon. For whatever clumsy moments it had, it's an adventure I look back upon with great fondness.
The other week, I was actually climbing up the Celestial Tower to comb for hidden items and came across the champion, Alder, mourning at the top. Paying respects for the soul of his deceased Pokémon. He reveals that he once held the narrow-minded beliefs of Cheren, searching only for power until his partner passed away. His travels enlightened him to meeting many fellow trainers, and he encouraged my player avatar to do the same.
As he bid farewell, I went over to the tower's bell and gave it a rang.
In my younger days, this song would have sent me further into my despair. I'd keep running and running, chasing the regret and loss it baits. As the stairs would continue to circle, I'd claw desperately at the ghosts of the broken, childhood dreams shattered by growing up. The reveries I cherished in my youth. The secret dreams I clutched so hard to myself were shattered, never to return, never to resonate with anyone else.
I'd chase the loved ones I lost. Friends who left me over the years. My cat Dexter. My former best friend. All the results of societal pressure, illnesses born from negligence, and toxic ignorance. Their ghostly forms evade my reach, and our respective gaps on the stairs grow ever wider. I keep running, and I see him.
I chase him, screaming all the while, "Why did you do it?" He doesn't answer, just like how he'll never say anything about my college graduation and his cousin's son and my future career. He closes his eyes and vanishes. I keep running.
But my future is not about running. I continue to mold myself for the bright future waiting for me, and it's enlightening beyond belief.
Final Thoughts: Some game music fans have pointed out similarities between this and Chrono Trigger's Secret of the Forest. I can kinda hear it, but Celestial Tower's faster pace throws me off.
