The Nintendo GameCube -- alongside Sony's PlayStation 2 and Microsoft's Xbox -- wouldn't just represent the next generational shift in 3D gaming, but Nintendo finally stepping outside their comfort-zone. While their stubbornness towards online gaming would endure, their embracing of disk-based media allowed for seemingly countless new possibilities. A flagship game was necessary to prove its power, and with Super Mario Sunshine set to launch the year after, why not go with his overlooked brother?
Enter Luigi's Mansion: initially designed as a tech demo showing off the GameCube's capabilities, the decision to build upon that as a game would render it Luigi's first game -- well, the first one actually involving Nintendo, anyway -- wherein he'd search a haunted mansion for Mario and suck up ghosts with a modified vacuum cleaner. Unlike the 1993 mishap Mario is Missing!, however, Luigi's Mansion would not only deign it fit to put the poor plumber's name into the title, but have actual Nintendo designers, including Mario creator Shigeru Miyamoto himself, make it a reality. It would finally vindicate Luigi -- the second fiddle to Mario's spotlight; the eternal understudy to the first player.
And now, a story: there was, once upon a very brief time, I would've placed Super Mario Sunshine in My Top Five Video Games of All Time; No. 2, in fact, only behind Super Smash Bros. Melee. Call it the fervent hype of one little boy -- stumbling across a pre-release demo in New York City's Toys "R" Us remains one of my all-time favorite gaming memories -- but my bliss in Mario's tropical acrobatics couldn't be denied: be it bopping upon hapless NPCs and aimlessly hopping around the beaches and villages of Isle Delfino, hours upon hours were spent within torrid festiveness. Paradise was here, and it arrived in the anticipated thrill of a new Mario game.
Not many months later, however, a curious thing happened: the game slipped to No. 5, then No. 9, and then slipped off my Top Ten without a trace. It kept falling, falling, falling out of sight until its place within a Top 50 would be unfathomable. To say I grew a budding, resentful disappointment would be inaccurate, but the honeymoon period was certainly over, and the game's faults were too much to ignore.
Plays In: Map Recaps/Cutscenes Status: Original Composed By: Atsushi Yoshida
Three weeks ago, the world as I knew it changed forever. This is hardly anything new, but none of my personal tragedies or cynical coming-of-age developments were never on a global scale as what transpired on Election Day. On that date, every moral principle and ideological construct as I knew it had been proven to be a lie: that racism was a thing of the past. That women were to be treated with respect. That even though I didn't understand gay and transgender people, they were still human beings like me. I learned the hard way of how lies could hurt. That the world will suffer irreparable climate change until we stand up and do something. That whoever held the presidential office, whether one liked him or not, was a respected individual with a wealth of experience and wisdom.
That was all demolished that day. Racism is alive and well in America. Neo-Nazism, xenophobia, and media/government conspiracy theories will grow to be normalized, as will the KKK. Women will continue to be disenfranchised, and gay/trans rights may very well suffer. We rewarded a pathological liar with the most powerful position in the world. We will continue sticking our heads into the sand and pretend climate change is not an active threat, all the while shrugging our shoulders at the latest gun massacre and going "well, they were gonna die anyway; nothing we can do. But hey, thoughts and prayers!"
In short, we are not just well underway to roll progress back to a bigoted America, but as evidenced by the manchild demagogue that is Donald Trump, are set to becoming the laughingstock of the world.
In hindsight, I am perhaps not so surprised. The offbeat events of 2016 all but paved the way, be it the likes of reddit and Twitter doing nothing to stop the onslaught hate and harassment by those who aligned themselves under Mr. Trump's bigotry, or the media hyper-focusing on deleted emails that never once caused harm to a single human being. We clutched to our electorate polls in times of distress, no matter how much red dotted central America. But it was no use, for we underestimated the likes of voter apathy and the bigotry that had seeped into rural America.
Even more than that, though...was it really all a lie? Reading the horrors of segregated America back in high school, I couldn't help but marvel at how I wouldn't have to worry about this a mere forty years later. And yet, a tiny part of me wondered...could such violent friction between races really have healed in such short time? When the famous Trayvon Martin case reared its head alongside the countless similar tragedies since then, it was then I knew my country was heading down a dark path.
Have we made progress as a human society since then? Undoubtedly, but to think we have actually evolved as more moral human beings...how foolish of us. How foolish of me. We are, still forty years after the Civil Rights movement, a century and a half since the Emancipation Proclamation, the very same selfish human beings who are eagerly willing to step over others' ideologies and rights just to further our own selfish interests.
And what a bigger fool I was to think this once had nothing to do with me. Politics, I thought, were far too complicated for an autistic individual: what was I to make of caucuses? Filibusters? Legislation? Third-party movements? Parliament? I struggled daily with putting away laundry and making eye contact, so why bother with such vitriol when none of it made an ounce of sense? My college analysis of the Tea Party Movement, whereupon I was told it was a Conservative and Liberal movement, only proved it to me: I was above such petty quarrels.
But now I see I was wrong. Conforming to such a selfish ideology is something that would only benefit myself, and serves not a single member of humanity. Moreover, it was my own inaction that helped lead to where we were today; granted, my father never would've allowed me to not vote, but my apathy may very well have been part of what we witnessed earlier this November. It was only when Donald Trump's momentum grew to horrific levels this past year that I stood up and said, "I have to do something."
I believe, and always have, that America has never been "great." Forget the implications of how "Make America Great Again" means reverting to a time of open bigotry and whatnot; from our very beginnings, we have been hypocrites the moment "all men are created equal" was penned into the Declaration of Independence while we still had black slaves. From the Emancipation on, from the Civil Rights Movement on, from every LGBT movement on, we as a country are still dragged kicking and screaming into the acceptance of those who are different from us.
I do not love America, but I do love what America stands for. The dream of a place where anyone of any nationality can live free. The ideals of "The American Dream" and "The Land of Opportunity". Where virtue, open expression and equality are prized above all else. Where I can look at a broken individual in the eye regardless of their skin color and say, "you are welcome here. You are loved."
All this time, I thought a Trump loss would not only prove the exploitation of racism/biogtry and the presence of a lying demagogue with no political experience would have no place in a modern White House, but it would serve as a wake-up call to America. But would it really have put a stop to it all? That energized buzz of bigotry wouldn't be going anywhere, and I can hardly imagine the extreme right-wing Congress of today not exploiting that base. If this dumpster fire is what America truly needs to transform, so be it.
But I will not stand for a country built on hate and ignorance. I will not stand for a country where we have to continually choke back our tears and do nothing as gun massacres slaughter our loved ones, our children. I will not stand for a country geared towards self-destruction as the greatest crisis mankind will ever face threatens to erase our existence. I will fight for a country built on acceptance. A country where political parties who serve their homeland not on personal interests but for the interest of the people. A country where the dreams America has fought to earn for over the past two hundred years can finally, finally come true.
I will never build my life on hate. I will fight for a better tomorrow. I hope you will join me. Final Thoughts: This is the first time I've ever gone political on Leave Luck to Heaven, so I felt Fire Emblem would serve as a proper musical accompaniment. Do you think it worked? It'll definitely be a rare occasion, so savor it while you can.
Plays In: Mission 5 (Asteroid Belt - The Aparoid Menace) Status: Arrangement Arranged by: Yoshie Arakawa, Yoshinori Kawamoto
Love it or hate it, Star Fox: Assault's repertoire of orchestras may very well be the musical apex of Star Fox. The second Nintendo game to feature a full orchestra transformed a cheesy space shooter into a full-blown space opera; one still cheesy, mind, but now every story beat and character arc was granted more gravity and heft than ever before.
A number of songs from Star Fox 64 are given the orchestral spotlight, albeit with a slower motif. Some were disappointed it didn't emphasize fast-paced action, but I can't imagine a more fitting tradeoff. Just take the fan-favorite arrangement of the Star Wolf theme: a cutthroat skirmish between two adversaries is revamped into the splendor of their joint destiny: two rivals, the greatest pilots in the galaxy, locked into glorious combat.
We also see this in one of my personal favorites:this foreboding arrangement of Meteo. Encapsulating the never-ending awe of space, it's a perfect complement to the stage's context: hunting down an old enemy within the endless black, as familiar wreckage and abandoned machinery haunt the Star Fox Team.
Even taken on its own, it holds such raw power. I envision slowly losing myself into the infinite darkness, the innumerable constellations and nebulae of the Lylat System swallowing me whole. The remains of the Gorgon war machine, destroyed in the battle of Area 6, gloomily drifting across the galaxy until resting at the vapor of Sector Y. The Pleiades, sailing across the cosmos with no pilot, guided by a purpose known only to those who created it.
Only once before had Star Fox presented such a pure depiction of space: the previously-covered Sector Y from the original game. Whereas that waltz depicted the grand beauty of space, this one commands its ever-lasting dread; the mystery of the unknown. But even such qualities hold such an imposing allure on their own, and I can't help but be swept up every time I listen. Even now, its gripping enigma terrifies me, as I imagine the Arwing's cockpit growing ever more claustrophobic in the depths of space.
Some days, I just want to lose myself into whatever reverie such songs provide me. The responsibilities of the adult world always stop me, and in truth, even as a child I caught myself saying, "I don't have time for this." But to think eternally with no concept of time and responsibility...the treasures that could be surely mined from such meditation captivates me.
Final Thoughts: Hearing the original song pop up in Star Fox Zero was pretty fun, especially since its accompanying level didn't conform to the typical "asteroid field" template found earlier in the series.
Plays In: The Forest of Hope Status: Original Composition Composed by: Hajime Wakai
Whenever I hear the Forest of Hope, I'm there. I'm there in the sunbaked Japanese countryside I dreamed of as a little boy, swallowed by trees and creeks. They whisper endlessly, their shaded bases and sunken pebbles holding as much allure as Kirby Super Star's backgrounds, as much gravity and significance as the greatest of Super Mario's battles and the fainted nostalgia of EarthBound's streets.
But I cannot relax for long, as a memory calls for me.
I'm walking down an obscured dirt path, the leaves crunching beneath me as I sink further into a tunnel of trees. The road is endless, the sun shining through the mass overarching of leaves no matter how long I walk. What I seek is here, but it slips further and further out of my grasp. I can feel it: the knowing prodding from the deepest recesses of my memory growing ever more quiet. I stop and observe my surroundings, absorbing the futility of it all.
Do I even remember what I'm looking for?
Just as I'm about to take another step, movement catches my eye. Emerging underneath from a decayed leaf arrives a lone Yellow Pikmin, hopping excitedly at my presence. As I crouch down to meet its level, it dashes over and gibbers in its alien language. With a sideways glance, it points giddily to a nearby crowd of shrubbery and runs off, making motions for me to follow.
Has it been waiting for me?
Letting it take the lead, I watch as it's swallowed in a sea of green before taking cautious steps forward. Am I afraid I'll squish my new friend in the mess of flora, or am I simply not ready for what I'm about to find? I quiver in fright until the shrubs shake, the Pikmin protruding its head and motioning to me again before diving back in.
I hesitantly step into the brush, and then I remember.
Long ago, just outside of my cousins' backyard lied an urban dirt road. To the right lied a small patch of woods by the neighbors, and within was a small playhouse. It was homemade, wooden with chipped, white paint and a red roof. It hadn't been used in a long time: strewn inside were dusty chairs, tables and windows, and Daddy-Long-Leg spiders hid within the cracks of the walls.
What was it doing in Japan? I don't know, but maybe it was there all along.
I keep walking. Pushing aside branch after branch and leaf after leaf, the memories gradually piece themselves together. How I walked out of my cousins' house without a word, opening the gate to leave and find my hidden playhouse. How I always wondered who it belonged to, who played within its tiny confines, how no one ever noticed my silent occupation inside.
How, someday, I never managed to find it again.
And then, there it lies.
Situated just outside a spacious clearing, the playhouse is bathed in a ray of light. A side window is host to a fallen tree branch, and perched on-top is the Yellow Pikmin. It waves silently before hopping through the empty pane,
Holding my breath, I stride over, crouch down slightly to meet the door size, and walk inside.
It is just as I remember it, dust and all. But a gentle aroma fills the air; two warm cups of ocha tea sit on the old table, one much smaller than the other. The Yellow Pikmin sits opposite of the cup and, turning to face me, points to its larger counterpart. Another gift. I make my way over to a chair and wrap my fingers around the cup handle, lifting it to gently clink our glasses together.
We sip from our cups and turn to watch the sun set over the clearing. The euphoria settles within both of us, words not needed as what we've waited our entire for lives sinks in. The reminder that so many other abandoned memories remain unsolved prods in my brain, yet for now, the catharsis of salvaging this one moment rises above all.
But it's not for long, because it is already time for bed.
Final Thoughts: If the above narrative hadn't implied it, this is one of my gaming comfort songs. What are some of yours?
When it rains, it pours. Over the past month, the circumstances regarding my job have only gotten from bad to worse, and it's been affecting me deeply. I won't get into the gritty details, but it's been a maelstrom of miscommunication, finger-pointing and radio silence that's wearing me down. Not good, not good.
I try my hardest to be a resilient human being. I've had a countless amount of challenges and hardships to overcome in my lifetime, yet every struggle ends the same: I slowly rise back up to face whatever comes next. At the end of the day, I have my dreams to live for, and there's people who love me that count on my existence. So far, it seems this case will be no different, as there's plenty of opportunities to look forward to. For instance, I'll be starting my JTP with GameSkinny next week, so I probably won't be completely jobless in the near feature. And I've excelled in my self-studying of Japanese (I was able to translate some of the 1st One Piece volume today!), so there's that.
And yet, this situation is still immensely disappointing to me. That I was able to make a difference in a district I spent over decade loving and hating as a foolish adolescent was both cathartic and monumental to me, and now that may not be the case soon. Not that neither side is completely faultless in the ordeal, mind, but I'd rather be honest over the ordeal rather than hearing, well, nothing.
At the heart of the matter is something I've slowly grown to fear over the past couple years: social skills, cues and conveniences I cannot glean due to having Asperger's. I still cannot comb my hair properly. My rate of speech is still too fast, and I cannot properly gauge the volume and tone of my voice. I unconsciously pace around. I hate using it as an excuse--at the end of the day, we're all human beings no matter what we do--and yet it's who I am. What's an Aspie to do?
It's not that I hate myself for having the syndrome; in fact, I'm proud I came this far as a member of the spectrum. But it's that fear that no matter where or what I'm doing, it always ends up being socially unacceptable or wrong. This is despite the fact I'm on the high-functioning end of the spectrum: I still know the difference between right and wrong, and what's sensitive and insensitive. But there's always going to be a blind spot in areas I continue to fail in, and neurotypicals will, without fail, pick up on that.
This isn't the struggle I imagined myself back in 5th Grade, where math problems were the bane of my existence and I was struggling with the reality that I was falling for my best friend. I've always known I was different and people were going to have difficulty accepting who I am, most of all myself. Funny how I always paint my childhood with rosy innocence, and yet I wonder if my hardships back then were just as poignant.
Does my choice of an Animal Crossing theme--one that happens to be one of my favorite rain themes in gaming history--strike as fitting? It's not particularly gloomy, given that it's from Animal Crossing and all, yet it's something I always turn to whenever I'm pondering myself. I usually walk away content, yet today is different. Am I searching for a piece of childhood that's calling out to me, refusing to be buried in the mists of time? Am I just looking for catharsis? I don't know, and yet I'm just staring at the storm.
Just what am I missing? What am I missing?
Final Thoughts: By the way, this is the first time I've done a second music column on a single game, hasn't it?
Origin:The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess Plays in: Various cutscenes
Status: Original Composition
Composer: Toru Minegishi
They say that whenever Nintendo holds a stockholder's meeting or the like, you should always expect the worst and hope for the best. Predictably, the results have lately been falling upon the former, and today's bombs are no exception. The nebulous NX console won't be arriving this year as most expected, but instead March 2017 so as to ensure a strong launch line-up. The next Zelda title has once again been delayed, as it'll launch alongside the NX next March. What this means is that Nintendo will once again have to ride its current money-making waves from amiibo figures and their mobile ventures, as the Wii U's paltry lineup will hardly sustain another Christmas season.
I've largely come down from the disappointment this morning, but there's no denying things are looking bleaker than ever for Nintendo. 2015 was already one of their roughest years despite their high-quality output, and the ways thing are going, 2016 looks to be even worse. We still have no idea what exactly the NX is, and outside of Pokemon Sun and Moon, who knows what else they'll have scheduled for this fall.
Origin: Metroid Prime Plays In: Tallon Overworld for the game's first half. Status: Arrangement Arranged by: Kenji Yamamoto
I don't think anyone can disagree that Metroid Prime has one of the greatest opening sequences in gaming history, no? Samus's infiltration of the Frigate Orpheon is heart-pounding, thrilling, and haunting all-in-one, concluding with a true-to-Metroid-form escape from the exploding facility as she chases down her (now mechanized!) archenemy, Ridley. Cue her landing on the mysterious planet Tallon IV, where you soak in the view of the raining jungle as the above song plays.
I can only imagine the euphoria long-time Metroid fans found themselves in, as a masterful combination of synth, choir, percussion and a lone trumpet conjured up an atmosphere so powerful that I suspect many just stood there taking everything in. I know I have, but how many stood knowing this adventure would live up to every expectation they'd been building for eight years?
That it works so beautifully is no coincidence. Kenji Yamamoto may not have composed the original Brinstar theme (that would be Hirokazu Tanaka) but his experience with Super Metroid bears fruit. With how Frigate Orpheon came out guns blazing, Yamamoto takes the opportunity to provide a nostalgic cooldown for the player as they slowly absorb their surroundings. It segues perfectly into the ambience that paves the way to the Chozo Ruins, and continues to do so until it's replaced by the equally amazing Tallon Overworld 2.
Together with Metroid Fusion, this GameCube masterpiece kicked off an era of Metroid that lasted well throughout the 00's. None managed to top Retro Studios' part revival, part 3D transition, but that Metroid was once again a starring member of the Nintendo family was enough fans to ask for...that is, until the disastrous reception of 2010's Metroid: Other M brought the series to a screeching halt.
The protracted silence on Metroid since then drove fans to unease, and last year's equally-disastrous reveal of Metroid Prime: Federation Forces has, once again, made those very fans to label the series as "dead". Bear in mind said game hasn't even come out. Ouch.
Putting aside the possibility that Federation Forces could end up a quality title (it's by Next Level Games, after all), where does Metroid go from here? Yoshio Sakamoto, undoubtedly burnt by Other M's reception, already expressed he's moved on to less-ambitious projects like Tomodachi Life. Do we hope that Miyamoto's interest in a Wii U Metroid title has somehow manifested into a NX project? And what if Federation Forces ends up bombing and Nintendo takes that a sign the series is no longer profitable? It's a scary time.
The wait from Super Metroid to Metroid Prime was a masterpiece being topped by another masterpiece, but here we have a dud transitioning to an unknown quantity fans won't even give the time of day. You have those wishing for Metroid Prime 4, and while Retro Studios has expressed interest in taking on the series again, you have an equal number of fans begging for them to take on something new. There's just no easy answer.
Even what I personally wish is certainly no easy feat. Metroid may not rank in my Top 5 Nintendo franchises, but what I desire is a game that has an opening reflecting that Tallon Overworld moment. It doesn't have to be as good as Metroid Prime or Super Metroid, but something that tells fans "you're home" and guarantees another sci-fi spelunking epic would be enough.
Samus Aran has been through a lifetime of horrors. I'm sure she can survive a character assassination and a spin-off misfire. Maybe she can pull it off.
Final Thoughts: Man, now I want to play Metroid Prime again. So good.
It goes without saying that Shigeru Miyamoto is a genius. After all, he's the creator of Super Mario Bros. and The Legend of Zelda, two video games that revolutionized the game industry. They grew into multi-million selling series that forged countless childhoods over the course of three decades; in particular, Super Mario has sold more than any other video game franchise in the world at over 300 million (and that's not including the dozens of spin-offs). The names "Mario" and "Zelda" are practically synonymous with the term "video game", proving how successfully they've penetrated into culture and the public at large.
Pikmin, Miyamoto's pet project for Nintendo GameCube, never achieved those same accolades. But I'll be damned if it's not his most inspired concept. This isn't to say it's his best, yet that one could make compelling cases for its masterpiece sequels shows the series can stand proudly with his most famous titles. And yet that they were both born from this experimental little oddball fascinates me to no end. After all, Miyamoto himself said Pikmin 3, undoubtedly the finest game you can play on Wii U, was the finalization of what he set out to accomplish with this title.
The game is the little survival tale of a diminutive astronaut, who crash-lands onto an alien world. His beloved Dolphin a mess, Captain Olimar must recover the spaceship parts with the help of plant-endowed critters, who share the game's title. Divided into three separate colors for their respective strengths (reds are immune to fire, yellows are light and can be tossed high, and blues can wade through water), the Pikmin are inquisitive, adorable lifeforms who require a capable leader for their own survival. Through commanding and propagating the Pikmin, Olimar must brave the dangers of the planet within thirty days before his life support system runs out. But the team can only brave the planet's surface during daytime, as the nightlife is far too dangerous for expeditions.
Needless to say, it's a game that requires a different sort of dedicated commitment than Zelda; a far cry from the pick-up-and-play familiarity of Mario. There were those who couldn't handle the pressure of completing the game under the 30-day time limit; others didn't "get" the premise's replayability and thought it was too short. And that's fine; while we could cite shortcomings on behalf of the developers, not every good idea will penetrate the mainstream market.
Personally, I suspect another reason, which relates to the "pressure" factor, is probably what I love so much about it; mainly, there's a stark sense of humanity present, more so than its two sequels. There's as much whimsy as any other Miyamoto title, but it hits home. There's the impending threat of Olimar's demise, for one: we learn from his nocturnal logbook that as excited as he is to learn about the Pikmin and their strange world, he always reverts to thoughts of his family back home.
Then there's the Pikmin themselves. Playful as children and fierce as beasts, we delight in discovering the nuances of their life cycles. We watch with wonder as they carry Pikmin-producing pellets back to their Onion nests, or start whacking away at mysterious holes in the ground. Our hearts melt at their puppy cries when attempting to lift heavy objects, and we feel like a proud parent when they return to the sound of Olimar's whistle. Our hearts break when a plan to slay a beast goes wrong and gasp in horror at their various methods of demise, be it getting munched, crushed to death, drowning, burned alive, or, as everyone is bound to do at least once, accidently leave one or two behind at the end of the day and watch helplessly as they're devoured by nocturnal monsters.
That's right: Pikmin decides to punish you for your failures by killing off your new pets. To further rub it in, they emit one last mournful cry before they dissipate into ghostly silhouettes, rising up to the great beyond.
I'll be honest in admitting I've since enjoyed a dark humor in that as I've grown older (particularly in the sequels, as they lean more towards comedy), but that you constantly have to manage and weigh the lives of adorable little critters under a ticking clock was probably too much for some.I know it was for me as a kid, no matter how much I enjoyed it.
I cannot claim this is entirely a matter of "git gud", either. Just the year before Pikmin, there were players who couldn't accustom to the three-day apocalypse of Zelda: Majora's Mask, which coincidentally also featured oddball humor and poignant themes. However, there's a rather big difference between the two: not only would the player have to purposefully encounter Majora's Mask's hour of doomsday given how the game incorporates time travel, but the player can actually work around the game's rules through slowing time. In Pikmin, either you play ball with the rules given, or you don't. In that sense, I understand Miyamoto's regret.
But why was I so captivated by it then? Why did I try to succeed over and over? Because of the very same reason it may've turned people off: its presentation of "stark reality." The sunbaked forests and desolate springs bear eerily Earthen roots, yet are framed in a style so alien we cannot help but discover its depths. There's all the indigenous life-forms, for starters: you have the bird-serpent hybrids, mind-controlling toadstools, fire-breathing warthogs, and, my personal favorite, a bread loaf-shaped scavenger that frequently engages in tug-of-war with Pikmin for goodies.
That these creatures sound just as cartoony as the Pikmin themselves would imply the game's world is just as cartoonish, but we're instead left to traverse one of the most beautiful worlds the GameCube has to offer. A cartoonish setting would entirely defeat the game's purpose; in the end, the Pikmin's world is that of survival, and Olimar's plight is no different. The realistic setting ensures the dangers of carnivorous beasts and environmental hazards come alive.
What really drives this point home is the great music provided by Hajime Wakai. Listen how the above example, the lullaby that is Forest of Hope, fluctuates according to time and tension. The way it initially captures a languid sunny morning is a perfect complement to how the area starts off. With the landing site block off by a dirt wall, Pikmin are divided into groups of either breaking it down or securing Pellets to grow more Pikmin. The ensuing work is long and hard, but it's ultimately an eye-opener into the game's circle of life: newborn Pikmin who remain planted in the ground gradually grow from leaf, to bud, and finally flower.
But who knows how long they'll live? The Forest of Hope is the first time Olimar and his troops will engage ravenous beasts (none the least of which are the spotty Bulborbs) and hazards of the watery and explosive kind. Whether accompanied by simple percussion or sleepy xylophones, it's downright raw to hear the dying cries of Pikmin drowned out by such gentle croons. And yet, life goes on.
On the opposite side of the spectrum lies The Distant Spring. It's a flooded marsh host to both infinite beauty and certain death, as the aquatic grounds are home to most of Pikmin's deadliest creatures. As echoed by the song, it represents the number one creed of nature: survival of the fittest, and so the cries of dead Pikmin naturally blend in. Despite being succeeded by one more area, visiting The Distant Spring truly feels like reaching the ends of the world.
It's here the player realizes Olimar is our link to the world. For as much as he's in wonder of the alien world, his fight for survival is a lonely one the Pikmin can't entirely cure. We are just as in the dark as he is, and so we share his feelings of discovery, his confusion, his loneliness. By the time The Distant Spring rolls around, enough days have certainly passed for the explorer to feel more than a little homesick. But the harsh environment cares little for his plight, and so like Olimar, we must shoulder the burden of survival and sacrifice.
The roots for this process takes place from the very beginning, although with how the game starts at The Impact Site, you'd hardly think things would take such a dark turn. The song frames Olimar's plight as an adorable intrigue; a playroom mess rather than a struggle for survival, and given the oversized flora and cardboard boxes, you wouldn't be at fault for mistaking it as such.
But given the size chart in the game's manual (Olimar is only the size of a quarter), perhaps that's the point. It's a game designed for all ages, and so the game's darkness has to be balanced out by the whimsy of the Pikmin. Like the song and Olimar themselves, we delight in discovering what they're capable of.
Which brings us to the joy of the game's greatest song. No matter what point you're at in the game--be it having just met the Pikmin or have emerged from the depressing throes of The Distant Spring---the World Map theme will be there waiting for you. Opening with a light-hearted sunrise, the World Map theme is as adventurous as it is encouraging. It'll play even when time is running out, or if Olimar's army of Pikmin has been mercilessly slaughtered.
And that's because its job is in telling you to keep trying. It implores you to explore, to persevere. You may've had one bad day, but why not persevere and come up with new strategies for next time? Time run out and you still haven't found all the necessary ship pieces? Hey, life goes on, so why not try again? The song matches Nintendo's objective in always looking out for the player, and even if Pikmin doesn't hit all the bases for that, this one moment holds that one creed above all else.
But suppose you do succeed, and are thusly rewarded with the heartfelt ending...do you play again? After all, this sort of game is supposed to reward creativity. To achieve one goal in different ways and discover new shortcuts and tricks. Such a game begs for replayability, yet as mentioned before, Miyamoto and co. observed not many chose to do so.
Does the reason go beyond the stressful time limit? We can offer the argument that Pikmin and fellow GameCube launch title Luigi's Mansion offered a style of gameplay that flew over the mainstream's heads, yet I can't help but shake the feeling both games stuck too closely to their experimental roots. Of course, not every inspired concept will come barreling out the gate with heaps upon heaps of polish and content, but their respective setpieces never "wow" us as the N64 and SNES launch efforts did prior. We're drawn into their creativity, but leave considering them appetizers to the main course (in this specific context, Super Smash Bros. Melee).
Pikmin is a step above Luigi's Mansion in that there's more nuance to its gameplay; namely, you don't have to tackle every single enemy with the exact same strategy. And yet, it never quite breaks out of the "glorified tech demo" label Luigi's Mansion was also branded with. It's not that there's ideas left unfinished or anything resembling sloppy design, but there's a notable incongruity in how inspired the game's objectives can be. Take The Final Trial: the final boss is as difficult as they come, but barring the bit with the isolated bomb rocks, the "trials" preceding it are painfully simple and short. That's not to say the game doesn't get creative--look no further than The Forest Navel--but such moments aren't uncommon. In the end, Pikmin's concept ends up being more creative than the final product.
It's why I label the game as experimental, but that doesn't mean I don't think the game's a beautiful rough draft. Just because the general public may've been done with it after one go doesn't mean I wasn't, and the aforementioned nuance is enough to keep me coming back on lazy afternoons. What propels Pikmin from "good" to "great" mainly boils down to two things: a) the character and presentation involved and b) the presence of an addictive Challenge Mode. The latter has been undeniably outstripped in the sequels, but the former possesses a unique niche even those masterpieces may have yet to surpass.
In the end, while Pikmin doesn't reach the awesome heights
of Miyamoto's more famous works, it nurtured enough love and passion to
blossom into one of Nintendo's finest franchises. In that respect, such
humble beginnings are rendered just as stunning. Hmm, I wonder what that reminds me of?
Origin: Kirby Air Ride Plays in: Celestial Valley Status: Original Composition Composer: Hirokazu Ando
It's bizarre just how much Kirby Air Ride aesthetically differentiates itself from the rest of Kirby. Whereas the main series typically dives into sugary bedtime fantasy, Air Ride's courses evoke higher levels of fantasy commonly associated with swords and sorcery. Granted, the game is bursting with such imagination that it refuses to stick with just that theme (most notably Machine Passage and the entirety of City Trial), nor do any actual instances of swordplay or spellcasting actually happen. But the locales of Fantasy Meadows, Magma Flows, and Celestial Valley certainly look like they could house such scenarios, couldn't they?
Just look at our subject for today: Celestial Valley. The course uses shades of blue and purple not commonly associated with Kirby, all the while introducing aesthetic concepts entirely new to the series (giant floating illuminating mushrooms, fossil-embedded mountains and half-opened dinosaur eggs). When complimented by the nostalgic whistles and rushing adventure of today's song, it strikes that perfect balance of wonder within the context of high-speed play.
So much did this juxtaposition of fantasy strike out to me as a child that I crafted what the game didn't supply: a scenario. Kirby Air Ride didn't take place on Planet Popstar, but within Kirby's dreams. As opposed to being fictional manifestations of the sleeping mind, however, these dreams allowed to him to interact with different-colored Kirbys from parallel dimensions! All possessing the minds of children, they compete in races featuring famed locations from their respective home worlds.
As evidence from the course's purple hue, Celestial Valley is the realm of Purple Kirby. To this day, I stop and wonder: do the mining tunnels hint at the existence of dwarves, who share their spoils with the fairies that might live in the mushrooms? What about the existence of dinosaurs, who apparently died out yet continue to hide in eggs? Perhaps they're shier than our dwarves and fairies. And on top of it all, how does Purple Kirby interact with them?
Part of the fun in Kirby Air Ride is within it's lack of context, which I now worry that like Mario & Luigi: Paper Jam, Nintendo and HAL Labs will take a sledgehammer to and reveal that, say, City Trial is really just where the Broom Hatters like to chill on Sunday nights. But then I remember the following portion from a Nintendo Power interview and recognize I have nothing to fear:
"NP: We have to ask a geeky Kirby Air Ride question for those Kirby superfans who've been following the "Kirby story" in his games and in the TV animation: How do you explain the presence of multiple Kirby characters -- and in a variety of colors?
Tanikawa: Many story elements from Kirby Air Ride remain wrapped in mystery. Why are there more than one Kirby? Why aren't there any people in the city found in City Trial? Is Kirby Air Ride set on Planet Popstar or in Dream Land? We might reveal the answers in future games . . ."
"Is Kirby Air Ride set on Planet Popstar or in Dream Land?" That's like asking if I'm currently living in America or on Earth. Regardless, this was from twelve years ago, and so far no one else seems that invested in figuring out what's the deal with City Trial's emptiness, so I think I'm safe. Just let me dream, Nintendo!
Final Thoughts: By the way, a rip of this very song plays on The Great Cave Offensive stage in Super Smash Bros. for Wii U. Alongside its fellow Air Ride track Frozen Hillside, I think it complements the stage incredibly well.
There was a time where, for me, the Sonic Adventure games were Sonic. It was the same era where any 2D platformer that wasn't Kirby was far too hard for me, and Sonic the Hedgehog's Genesis classics were no exception. Sure, I could play Sonic Advance just fine, but hardcore Sonic fans on message boards far and wide kept dismissing them in favor of the old Genesis games.
Being a kid, I didn't really get that, much like how the same crowd held no love for the Sonic Adventure games birthed on the ill-fated Dreamcast (and eventually ported to GameCube, as seen in the cover above). The opening levels of each game had Sonic escaping from a killer whale and running over cars with a snowboard, respectively. I didn't care for rock music, yet Sonic made it cool with the likes of Live and Learn and Open Your Heart. If I was asked to describe the games with one-word answers as a kid, I would probably respond with words like "awesome," "kickass", and "deep". Yes, deep, likely in response to what I perceived as AAA-storytelling in the form of Gerald Robotnik's execution video and, in the case of the game I'm reviewing today, witnessing the poor plight of Tikal, an ancient echidna, attempting to prevent the slaughter and burning of the cuddly Chao creatures.
All wildly out of place in a Sonic game, you understand. And as we all know, it took Sega some time to learn from that. The rise and fall of Sonic the Hedgehog, all thanks to the likes of gun-toting edgy hedgehogs and woman-on-hedgehog smooching and werewolf hedgehogs and sword-wielding hedgehogs, has been widely maligned and joked about for years and years now. And yet the Sonic fanbase, chaotic as it is, can never decide whether or not it all started with Sonic's entry into 3D (or, in some deluded circles, argued to have never happened at all).
And now here we are, well over a decade since the original Sonic Adventure was ported to GameCube in the DX: Director's Cut edition, four years after its initial release in 1999. Coincidentally, that happens to be the last time I played it (2003, that is).
My friends, as those of us who've revisited our childhoods should know, there comes a time where we're forced to accept the bitter reality about what we once loved. That is why I am here today to inform you that Sonic Adventure DXsucks ass.
And I say that with zero malice whatsoever, for Sonic Adventure DX falls squarely into "so bad it's good" territory by taking all the wrong lessons from Super Mario 64 (and late-90's 3D game design in general). The result? A lovable abomination of hodgepodge game design, the worst camera ever devised, and glitches upon glitches upon glitches. Also, butt rock.
To put this all into context, Sonic Adventure DX splits the campaign into six characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Miles "Tails" Prower, Knuckles the Echidna, Amy Goddamn Rose, E-102 the Boring-Ass Robot, and Big the Fuckin' Cat. They all take place within the same story, so the purpose is to put the pieces together from each perspective. Not that it's even remotely interesting today, mind you, but we'll get to that later. The real issue is that I'm really not kidding when I say that Sega took the opportunity to throw in every concept they could think of, be it speedy platforming, racing, chase sequences, treasure hunting, shooting, bumper cars, casino games, and, yes, fishing.
Now, are any of these actually fun? Maybe, but credit can hardly be granted to Sega and the folks at Sonic Team. See, Sonic Adventure DX makes design mistakes so elementary that it doesn't matter which character you pick, as all of their respective campaigns are riddled with pacing flaws, pointless/confusing decoration, and accompanied by some of the slipperiest controls and cameras known to man. Also, glitches.
Sonic takes most of the story meat and represents just about every level, so it's best to use him as a model. Many Adventure critics point to his campaign as being the only enjoyable one on a functional level; this argument may've held up roughly a decade ago when the game's flaws weren't nearly as apparent today, but that's definitely not the case now. The seams in nearly all the jaw-dropping set pieces (including the famous Emerald Coast whale chase) have long since eroded, and whatever remains entertaining (such as Lost World's tunnels and gravitational wall panels) is surrounded in a sea of mediocrity.
These are all meant to illustrate how fast Sonic is, but the problem is how Sonic's speed is set far too fast. This wasn't so bad in the Genesis titles considering the multi-faceted level design (that, and the speed was far more, well, measured), but the pit-ridden 3D planes of Sonic Adventure DX simply can't handle the inoperable speed of Sonic. Consequently, Sonic tends to either fall off pits, fall through glitch-ridden slopes, or dash across walls and ceilings. The last one's an intentional cool-looking mechanic, mind you, but one that's hardly useful; in fact, you'll often find yourself running into walls instead.
Actually, just about every character runs too fast. While they vary in speed, they're unable to camouflage two fatal flaws within Sonic AdventureDX's design, the first one being level structure that continually betrays player decisions and expectations. This can range from springs that often send players spiraling into an abyss (despite being intended to launch 'em up to platforms, rings, or...nothing) to sudden sequences introduced with zero context. To step away from Sonic for a moment, above is an example from one of the similarly-designed Tails levels, where a rush of air propels him upwards. As seen above, Tails tends to crash into various structures and the like, but he'll also fall back down for no apparent reason. Naturally, the player's response to press a button to get him flying again, but that'll actually accelerate his descent. Bear in mind this is within a race setting!
Problem number two is all about the camera. Put simply, the camera cannot keep up with the characters' speeds and flings about in the most nonsensical perspectives to capture them. Some of its most common habits include freezing in place as a character zooms away, attempting and failing to capture everything relevant to the character's actions/placement, or just freaking the hell out. Above is an example of the second variety: Sonic has just left a room in Casinopolis, but the camera wants to be mindful of his AI partner (Tails), so it awkwardly situates itself behind the room's glass paneling so it can display both characters at once (as opposed to where it should be: around Sonic).
In any other 3D action game, this would compel any player to toss their controller at the wall. But bad 3D Sonic games have this mysterious fascination with clunking up every area imaginable with glitches galore; in the case of Sonic Adventure DX, there's so much what-the-fuckery going on in setting/context, collision detection, and AI movement happening every 20-30 seconds. I don't know what's the nebulous secret behind why Sonic derpin' out is so damn funny , but regardless, I took the liberty of capturing some of my favorite moments.
Yes, that's Sonic showering within the bathrooms of Casinopolis, and he has a visitor! Tails had been hopping about until colliding into the wall and freezing in that walking animation, leading to the hilarious shot above. Truth be told, this actually happened just before the glass paneling camera shot, setting a scenario where Tails watches sadly as his lover moves on. I wonder how much filthy fanfiction I just inspired?
Here's Knuckles climbing the non-existent space beyond one of the Egg Carrier doors! Yes, even the game's three central hubs are hilariously glitch-ridden. Did I mention the hubs are easily the worst of the inspirations borrowed from Mario 64? I'm still not sure if you're supposed to walk on top of the trees of Mystic Ruins' jungle; I mean, me falling through every three seconds should be a clue, but anything goes with Sonic Team. Anyway, it's far preferable than getting lost in that unnavigable maze of a forest, so I don't mind.
Now, I'm told that Sonic Adventure DX brought its own share of glitches and errors during the porting process, allegedly making the game worse than it actually is. However, the idea of the level design, controls and the camera all magically turning to shit when transferred to GameCube is a hard pill to swallow, especially since some of these very complaints existed back upon its Dreamcast release. If anything, I really can't help but appreciate DX's efforts in at least making the game look pretty. Just take a look below.
Sonic Adventure
Sonic Adventure DX
I mean, both are all kinds of terrible, but for vastly different reasons. Sonic Adventure needs no explanation, as I'm certain I wouldn't be to sit through even one cutscene without collapsing in laughter. Meanwhile, Sonic Adventure DX takes the time to freshen the models to an acceptable 2003 standard, polishing 'em off with a shiny sheen. Unfortunately, they neglected to update the mouth animations, so everyone speaks with all the grace of a cow chewing cud. In case you're wondering, that's why Sonic's tongue is sticking out like that (also, why does Sonic have fangs?).
Yes, at the very least, I can't imagine the Dreamcast version excusing the very worst of Sonic Adventure. There's the voicing and scripting, for one. Like, holy shit. I knew revisiting an era where they casted unknowns to voice hackneyed dialogue wasn't going to be pretty, and I knew even as a kid there were some weak lines ("Tails! Watch out! You're going to crash! AhhHHHhH!"), but this is just on another level. You know things are bad when the entire cast of bad 90's dubbing tropes are here: the overacting ninnies (Sonic and Knuckles), the obnoxious body-type casting (E-102 and Big the Fuckin' Cat), "Good Voice, Bad Acting" (Tails' child actor), and The Actors Who Simply Don't Give A Shit (whoever they grabbed around the office to cheer Sonic's name before the final boss).
All are unintentionally hilarious. Granted, the late Deem Bristow brings some deliciously evil cheese to Dr. Eggman (one that he struggles to maintain, unfortunately, but points for effort), but this is all married to the following:
a) the aforementioned horrific attempts at lip-synching.
b) tuned to a boilerplate "ancient evil" script that attempts to be far more serious than it actually is ("THIS IS BEGINNING TO BLOW MY MIND," yells Knuckles after witnessing a mysterious vision).
c) characters constantly speaking over each others' lines.
d) the loud, blaring music constantly drowning out dialogue
Naturally, the results can't be anything but tear-inducing hilarity. You haven't lived until you've heard Tails's speech about the power of friendship.
The scripting even bleeds over to the silent human NPCs, all of who are concerned with burgers, archaeology, train station strikes, and finding love in pizza restauraunts. I'm the type that walks up to every NPC in sight, so naturally the blocky residents of Station Square and their insipid affairs fascinated me to no end. The love story moved me to tears, really.
And then there's Big the Cat. Big the Fuckin' Cat, whose only purpose is to fumble around and fish for his pet frog. This naturally begs the question "why the hell am I doing this?" as most Sonic games have done in the past decade and a half. Sega's response? "Well, because we already implemented a fishing program for some reason." Now, I just so happen to have an unhealthy obsession with cats, so I supposed I'd be willing to play ball with whatever the fuck Sega wanted me to do.
And I'm glad I did, because otherwise I never would've discovered the most beautiful level in all of gaming: Big's version of the Ice Cap segment. To clarify, the rest of his levels consist of just a pond to fish in, as they should be. No point in propping up those sections with fluff, right? For reasons I cannot even begin to decipher, the gang at Sonic Team decided to transform the Ice Cap fishing level into a labyrinth of springs, slopes, spike traps, and deep, deep water tunnels. As expected of an ice level, it's all very slippery, and I should also mention Big the Cat is ill-equipped to handle any platforming (he runs fast, but is offset by his poor jumping ability).
I spent roughly half an hour transitioning from mild curiosity to convulsing around the floor in laughter attempting to figure this level out. You're supposed to throw a boulder at one of the frozen ponds to find Froggy, but like me, if you don't bother to immediately seek the advice of Tikal, nothing in this level is immediately apparent. What ensued was a pattern of me briefly scoping out the bottom level, then climbing up down slopes and watching Big the Fuckin' Cat's fat ass falling all the way back down, springing over to completely irrelevant crevices and water pools (barring finding a hidden lure, but hardly worth all this fluff), and watching helplessly as the camera zoomed up at the ceilings of incredibly cramped underwater tunnels. I took the time to craft GIFs of my Ice Cap escapades, for words alone cannot capture the beauty of Ice Cap.
The last one's actually in the Mystic Ruins, but you see how Big just kinda fidgets in place for a bit? That didn't actually happen in-game. If you follow this link, you'll witness the true power of Big's spinning, gravity-defying powers, which no GIF converter could properly emulate.
Case in point, Sonic Adventure DX--nay, Sonic Adventure was the true beginning of a long, long era for Sonic, one often complemented by a never-ending series of "Why?" Why, exactly, am I doing all this? Why has the setting for Sonic suddenly changed to one populated with humans? Why did this game end up being so riddled with glitches? Why does Tails have to suddenly stop and inform me that I'm at the entrance to the Sky Deck, especially since this never happens for any other level? Why does the cutscene of Sonic falling from the sky really just consist of his running animation accompanied by an exaggerated slide whistle? Why am I fishing for frogs?
I won't lie and say Sonic Adventure DX is devoid of any redeeming factors, because it does, but boy do you have to endure a lot of shit to get to those points. Granted, it's all shit that made me laugh hard, and Sonic had yet to fall lower than this, but it's all still shit that made me ask why. I gradually learned to ignore all of it, but you also realize that you can't really escape it.
Even the soundtrack isn't safe -- with the very distinct exception of Sonic Chronicles, if there's one thing to count on in a Bad Sonic Game, it's almost guaranteed to have a damn good soundtrack. Above are two of my favorites: the theme for the Red Mountain level and E-102's theme. Note how both make excellent use of the piano despite being on opposite ends of the Sonic Adventure spectrum.
Then you have to endure butt rock; or in the example I've provided above, butt rap, assuming that is an actual term. Sung entirely from the perspective of Knuckles, his special rap claims that unlike Sonic, he "doesn't chuckle" and is something of a "bloat thrower".
In a different time, I would've argued that Sonic should follow its Saturday Morning Cartoon roots and focus on feel-good songs in the vein of Sonic R and even Tails's own theme for this game (something I've always had a guilty affection for). But in the end, Sonic's bad boy attitude won out. All still in good fun, mind; why else would I still get nostalgic chills from Live and Learn? But then I listen to that rap and I wonder if it's really worth it.
In a way, I'm still wrestling with my feelings on Sonic Adventure DX. Make no mistake: it's really bad and I thoroughly enjoyed learning why, but in more of a "my soul's been punched" kinda way. Much as I laughed at Big the Fuckin' Cat, that half-hour is not only one I'm never going to get back, but I've spent far more time wondering "why?" and so I can't even visit side stuff like raising Chao and the Mission Mode in fear I'll have the same reaction. Maybe next summer; I need time to heal.
I now fear the worst for Sonic Adventure 2: Battle, which I'll be revisiting very shortly.If you excuse me, I'm going to drown my sorrows in Welch's White Grape Juice. Maybe it'll bring my childhood back, I dunno. Anything to make Sonic cool again.
---
You may've noticed some of the screenshots varied in quality. If you hadn't guessed, all the stuff with the black borders were from my recordings. I hear there's some programs out there that can take 'em out, so you can expect that for the next game I record (Kirby's Epic Yarn, maybe?).
Origin: Super Smash Bros. Melee Plays In: Trophy Lottery/Mini-game/Trophy Event Matches Status: Original Composition Composers: Hirokazu Ando, Shogo Sakai, Tadashi Ikagami
Hey, what can I say? I've been in Smash euphoria all month.
So why this song? Turns out, it's one of the selectable menu themes in the My Music feature for Super Smash Bros. for Wii U! Much of my Smash Bros. Brawl playtime was actually spent tinkering with the music ratio in My Music, and from the two examples we've witnessed in the recent Direct (Battlefield and the Menu...there's also Skyloft, but my anti-Skyward Sword bias refuses to acknowledge it), I'm already planning the high-low ratios for both selections.
I'm not quite sure where to place this song, though. Describing my meticulous arrangement with My Music could take quite some time, so here's a general idea: a stage's "main" theme will typically rank the highest while the most dynamic or dissonant tracks are set quite low, and the rest of the songs are balanced from there. As an example, take Distant Planet from Pikmin: the ripped Main Theme from that game is set alongside the Forest of Hope and World Map among the highest, while the quirky Environmental Noises only has a silver of a chance at playing. While I've picked the first three as the representative songs for Distant Planet, this sets the shock for the rare occasion Environmental Noises--a calming menagerie of the sounds of nature--decides to present itself.
For the Wii U game's menu, it's less clear-cut. The main menu theme will be the highest, no doubt, but what about the rest? We have the stellar Menu 2 from Melee, as well as the menu themes from that game and Brawl. As the menu theme pervades the entire title, I believe the game will be at its freshest with that song at the forefront, but I think turning those three songs on could serve as fun nostalgic throwbacks. Menu 2 will likely be set to halfway, while the Melee/Brawl themes will serve as occasional cameos.
And then there's this song. By far one of my favorite tracks from Melee, it's a stellar representation of Nintendo memory lane. I can see it now: me combing through the game's trophy descriptions for hours on end, browsing the fan sites of old (Nintendo Land and Nintendo Database ring any bells?), learning about the fabled legacy of my favorite company...it's a long-gone era, but the Trophy theme brings just a twinge of tumbling through the internet's recesses again.
Having not played Super Smash Bros. Melee in quite some time, it's rather heartwarming knowing I'll be getting acquainted with this song again! It's an oddball choice for the menu that I'm sure will raise eyebrows from my college hallmates, but I dearly look forward to it's return.
...even if I haven't figured out it's play frequency. I'll work it out, I promise!
Final Thoughts: Oh, by the way, I'm quite fond of the orchestral arrangement found in the Original Medley's midpoint from the Smashing...Live! concert. Have a listen!
