Okay, we're getting warmer: Mega Man 2's American boxart is no prize, but maligned as it is, I like to think it's not the catastrophe that was the original. Say what you will about inaccurate character design, but as they feature something resembling actual proportion, I think of it as a relative success in that patented 80's way of box arts fulfilling the template for our imaginations. This fantastic Eurogamer interview with artist Marc Erickson reveals it was a uncoordinated hodgepodge of circumstances -- a hapless art director's interpretation of Mega Man ("he's obviously shooting, so he must be using a pistol"), Erickson simply assuming the character was an actual man, and an overall lack of cooperation between the various Capcom branches in conserving the original character design. Simply put: let us not judge Erickson for simply doing his job.
Nay, we are here to judge Mega Man 2, otherwise known as one of the finest classics of the 8-bit era and what truly etched our Blue Bomber into gaming history. By the same token of the former, it's no stretch declaring it one of the NES's masterworks, and for my money, I consider it the system's finest third-party effort. When consideringhow many Mario knock-offs stumbled and fell in their ill-fated attempts to capture the golden goose, that it can stand arm-in-arm with the actual Marios and Kirby's Adventure is a miracle I cherish dearly. There's no slippery controls, no projectiles nonsensically thrown in arcs, no absurd difficulty for the sake of absurd difficulty -- it's just a damn good video game, one I'd dare even say reaches the vertigo of perfection.
Yet again we're faced with another NES box art malady. While the box art for Dragon Warrior is hardly as offensive as Mega Man's, it submitted to the all-too-common illusion of making the game seem "cooler" than it actually was (which, to be fair, was present in Japan as well). Whereas the American cover portrays a generic medieval fantasy, the Japanese artwork portrays a more colorful, light-hearted affair.
As it should; after all, it was done by none other than Dragon Ball's Akira Toriyama, whose 80's trademarks of cute, squat protagonists and fleshy, rotund beasts would set the tone for the series (it's no coincidence the dragon is cuddlier than your average Final Fantasy monster: the same would echo across the game's variety of enemies, not the least of which is the famous Slime).
And note the difference in name, too: Dragon Quest became Dragon Warrior for US release. The cause may not be as immediately apparent as that of Rock Man to Mega Man, as a pen-and-paper RPG of the same name held the "Dragon Quest" name. The word "Warrior" also undoubtedly appealed to American boys more than "Quest," and so the series was dubbed as such here until 2005's Dragon Quest VIII.
Just as it does with box art, Leave Luck to Heaven represents games with their American names whenever possible. But as developer Enix (or should I say Square-Enix?) went to the trouble of retconning the Dragon Warrior name,so shall I for the reviews.
At any rate, it's well-known Dragon Quest became a phenomenon in Japan, providing the building blocks for Japanese RPGs: medieval worlds of fantasy, spells obtained upon leveling up, and a hero whose name is up to the player. Such success was not repeated in America, as its late release paved the way for its niche status over here. A 1986 RPG revolving around antiquated menus/commands would hardly light sales-charts in 1989, and while a Nintendo Power subscribergiveaway proved successful, said giveaway was initiated only to empty unsold stock.
Unfortunate, but at least we got an improved product out of it. Much of it boiled down to player convenience; for instance, no longer did the save system rely on tedious passwords, but a battery-pack save. The Famicom menu was far too cumbersome in that you had to choose the direction of the Talk command, but here it's just a simple selection. Even the graphics were adjusted across the board, as NPCs and even the hero himself are now applied directional animations. (Speaking of which, I highly recommend clicking here to witness the Japanese version's unintentional hilarity courtesy of the hero's groovin' trot. Nothing quite like 80's cringe!)
It was an ambitious undertaking directed by none other than the late Satoru Iwata, then a programming prodigy steadily rising within the ranks of HAL Laboratory. As the game that more or less forged what we know today as "JRPGs," playing Dragon Quest was something of a moving experience: to know a part of his legacy was being responsible for bringing what essentially jump-started an entire genre to our shores--and on top of all that, improving it--awakened a melancholic blend of gratitude on more than one occasion.
Alas, it's not enough to salvage the game from old age. It's vital to dispel any claims of mediocrity: Iwata's tweaks ensure Dragon Quest functions okay in a modern age, but an 80's menu-based RPG has much more going against it than the timeless likes of space-shooters and precision-based platformers.
Really, it's crazy just how much of this has to do with the game's overall pacing. There's not a whole lot of meat to Dragon Quest's campaign,so it relies on being one big grindfest from beginning to end. It's not an exaggeration to say over 80% of one's time will be spent fighting monsters, accumulating EXP and leveling up rather than embarking on swashbuckling adventures. Needless to say, tedium can settle rather quickly.
Other trappings of its age are hit or miss -- like other open-ended 80's games, the world of Alefgard is far from linear and expects players to follow vague NPC hints for progression; naturally, this results in players getting lost, and the frustration of unrelenting (not to mention random!) enemy encounters might discourage exploration. Thankfully, Alefgard isn't particularly big in comparison to future 8-bit RPGs (namely its NES sequels and the Final Fantasy games), so it's easy to memorize the lay of the land.
On the other hand, there's just no getting around the clunky menus. At best, they are what they are: an outdated element that falls into every 80's menu trap (can you say, no item stacking? Limited inventory space?), and yet Dragon Quest's execution is particularly archaic. Using commands to talk and search is clumsy enough, but for there to be one for using stairs?
There's other minor annoyances: for one thing, having NPC villagers walk around towns is a novel 8-bit touch, but it's not so "novel" when they decide to block exits and store counters. This is something hardly exclusive to Dragon Quest, mind you; after all, it's another piece of retro baggage, yet I still found myself shaking my fist at those who dared blocked my inn stops. ("I'm only at 5 HP, dammit! I'm gonna die!")
It's a good thing then that the game's world is so charming. Dragon Quest's localization took the liberty of injecting the script with Elizabethan-styled dialogue, with characters speaking like "Take now whatever thou may find in these treasure chests to aide thee in thy quest" or "Thou hast been promoted to the next level." Before playing, I was immediately apprehensive: wouldn't such an embellishment smother the script with stuffy language, particularly since Dragon Quest games are known for their witty dialogue?
I was surprised to witness that wasn't actually the case. Not only was the script relatively free of errors (a rarity in an era ripe of mistranslations and typos), but such a direction was rather fresh compared to the the dry, passive scripts commonly found in localized RPGs of the time. It's still a direction cheesy enough that I wouldn't want touching a modern localization, but within the context of those equally-cheesy 80's, it somehow fits like a glove.
Speaking of localization, most of the aforementioned graphic changes are for the best; truth be told, not only do the new sprites hue closer to the round, squishy citizens commonly found in 8-bit RPGs, but the Japanese version's NPCs look like what an ill-fated Americanized version would attempt to render it "cooler".
Really, the only aesthetic misstep is the infinitely bland title screen, which doesn't have a patch on iconic Japanese logo. Just look at all that wasted gray space!
But no amount of box art or title screen changes can stop Akira Toriyama's art from shining through. While mainly reserved for the monster designs, creatures like the Slime, Drake and the tongue-protruding, witch hat- wearing Ghost instantly captivate our hearts, whereas we immediately want nothing to do with the Axe Knights, Golems and Werewolves that cross our paths. Not that the hero should underestimate every cute enemy he comes across, mind, but Toriyama's design ensures the enemy hierarchy of power is instantly apparent.
Such moments even extent to the simple story: the rescue of Princess Gwaelin triggers an "aww" moment of the most triumphant kind -- the hero's overworld sprite carrying the princess bridal-style back to her castle. Director Yuji Horii's first attempt at an "emotionally involved" system might be rather barebones today, but that it elicits such emotions thirty years later speaks of fine craftsmenship.
And let's not forget the music by the legendary Kochi Sugiyama which...which...look, I'm sorry, but I can't avoid the elephant in the room. As much as Mr. Sugiyama is a talented composer, as much as he's contributed to the success and awareness of video game music, he's also kind of a terrible human being. Yes, the very first champion of game music is not just a history revisionist; he's a hardcore nationalist who regularly funds and participates in organizations that fuel such conspiracies.
Having grown up with Dragon Warrior Monsters and only just recently diving into the main series, this was immensely disappointing to learn. That his politics are removed from what is ultimately a playful, light-hearted series is a blessing we can all be thankful for, but knowing that his Dragon Quest proceeds go directly to history-revisionist foundations that suppress elderly rape survivors does not weigh easily on my conscience. While I will continue applauding his efforts in future Dragon Quest reviews, I won't be so neglectful in mentioning his misdeeds.
But since I've already called it out, what is effective about Dragon Quest's score? There's simply no going about reviewing Dragon Quest music without diving into the main theme, which makes its first appearance here. A bright, celebratory march that greets us at the title screen, we're up and ready to enter the game's world upon the first note.
Naturally, Sugiyama's legacy as a classical conductor dwells within every one of his compositions, but it's most apparent in the above battle theme. Creeping and slow, it recalls to mind that of a stalking menace lurking behind us. Just look at how well it translates into orchestra!
The cave theme also engages in, to my knowledge, one of the earlier experimental themes for NES/Famicom. Ignore how the above video is probably two minutes too long and click on the playlist button; see how there's eight different versions? In the game's final dungeon, the song gradually lowers in tempo as you descend deeper and deeper, echoing the apprehension before taking on the Dragonlord. How's that for scaring your pants off?
But as iconic as the main theme is, my favorite track lies in the overworld theme: Unknown World. As Dragon Quest highlights a solitary journey, it's only fitting that its world echoes a theme of loneliness. Laced with uncertainty, that we're left to discover what the game's world holds makes for a palpable effect.
Much like the game itself, actually. While not without its mishaps, Dragon Quest braved new waters for the sake of one goal: to distill the complicated RPG genre for a widespread audience. This could not just be done by simplifying the system; with Dragon Quest's hero being tied to the player's identity, we become invested easily, and so we're willing to leap over any hurdles involving clunky menus and uncertain progression.
Such an admirable achievement became the ever-improved fabric of the series going forward, but its heart still beats within its first effort. It's a relic, but a functioning relic: its age doesn't stop it from being accessible, and that alone makes a quest worth embarking on.
Origin: EarthBound Beginnings (Mother) Plays In: Mt. Itoi Cabin Status: Original Composition Composed by: Hirokazu "Hip" Tanaka/Keiichi Suzuki
Over the past several years, I've gradually decided that I want to be a hermit. I'd live in the mountain country home I've always dreamed of, surrounded by trees, fields and mountains that stimulate my inner nostalgia. Walks within forests and alongside mountain roads will be my zen, blue skies and dew-adorned flowers providing endless wonder. It would be a paradise all to my own (barring the company of some cats, naturally).
But why isolate myself? Have my social anxieties and insecurities reached their limit? Is it because I have Asperger's? Sensory issues? Indeed, they're all very likely answers, but I wonder if the more suspicious might believe I'm running away from something; safeguarding myself from a potential trauma, if you will.
In that case, is it because I'm afraid to be hurt by love?
Maybe it's because I realize my dream of young love will never come true.
I have never once dated in my life. After my court jester persona simultaneously ruined my reputation and forced me into seclusion during my grade school years, I never once entertained the idea of dating any of the individuals that helped ruin my social life. Opportunities never sprang in college, either, as I was much too focused in achieving my goals.
Deep down, though, I think I was still wishing for my dream to come true. It was one I secretly cherished for ten years, one centered around an individual I believed understood me more than anyone else. She was the epitome of young love: laughter abound, a never-ending plethora of inside jokes and memories reminisced in warmth, the golden scent of hair, and in possession of the the world's most headspinning smile.
It was an impossible dream, for she never felt the same way. I was just "the friend." But I never stopped dreaming. When I was sailing the high seas of Zelda: The Wind Waker, she and I built a life together on a tropical island. When I was an awkward teenager and endlessly reading video game fanfiction, I'd insert ourselves as the romantic leads. She was my Kairi, my Tetra, my Colette Brunel. Even when I thought I didn't love her, dreams of my mountain abode had her waiting for me at the doorstep.
As they say, however, love is cruel. The dream shattered in a million pieces as we reached twenty, when she began prizing drama and attention above all else. People found themselves being cut out of her life...repeatedly. Being "the friend," I was always the first to get the boot, watching helplessly as the breadth between us grew wider and wider. My own thoughts and feelings become inconsequential, a decade of memories and friendship rendered irrelevant as I soon found myself with nothing but a broken heart and tarnished memories.
It's so easy to say, "I will never fall in love again." It's a mantra I've repeated over the past year and a half, one that has only induced confusion and disbelief from those who've heard it. I do not wish to love because it's so scary to me. For every fairy tale romance that I personally witness, I can cite five more involving closed Facebook accounts, dramatic runaways and abusive relationships. The prospect of investing years into someone else only to end with heartbreak is pointless and far too risky for me.
It's wrong to stereotype, I know, especially after having dealt with the most selfish drama queen on the planet. But when you've invested ten years of unrequited love only to be betrayed not as a romantic partner but as a best friend, it does something to your ego. Any and all conceptions of romance are ruined for you I do not see the point in any of it. I do not understand why people constantly shut out their friends over ill-fated romantic pursuits, and I do not understand why age-gap relationships are a thing, and I do not understand why some establish cruel hierarchies of power and control to foster distorted notions of love.
It's all incredibly judgmental of me to say, as even the question of "why do people stay in abusive relationships?" often crosses my mind. If my decision to become a hermit hadn't already shown it, such statements prove that even I, too, am selfish. They're born from fear that I'll repeat my mistakes, and anger that things didn't go my way. The maelstrom of insecurities born from Asperger's, sensory issues and previous social encounters gone wrong seem to only cement the deal...
But, say, if I were ever to move on from all that, and I were to love again, who would it be with? Deep down, I already know the answer. It would be with someone who respects me, someone who does not judge me based on my background, but instead understands it and always supports me. Our thoughts and feelings are, respectively, of the utmost importance to each other.
Such a love would prove that the boons from young love are not exclusive. It'll flutter and waltz with grace and passion, just as when Ana asked Ninten to dance with her. It will not be something I will purposely seek out, but it's a path I'm gradually beginning to accept and possibly open. Maybe sooner than I think.
Final Thoughts: ...is the first time I've ever elaborated on this subject at length on here? It's why experimenting with this column is so fun.
