09/02/2012

CRIME CITY (ARCADE)

After suffering through Rise of the Robots for the last article, I think I've earned a holiday. Yeah, that sounds nice - a refreshing trip to a colourful world of simple, enjoyable gameplay and ridiculously OTT Japanese arcade aesthetics. Somewhere like, ooh... how about Taito's 1989 run-'n'-gun police-em-up Crime City?

Crime City is a dangerous, violent place - I believe it placed second in a recent poll of "worst possible places to live", just behind Herpes-upon-Thames - but luckily there's a pair of dedicated and vigilant police officers who will stop at nothing to clean up the streets. Just how seriously do they take their duties?

Physics, you can take the week off. Law of the Jungle? Fuhgeddaboudit. There's a new supreme law in town, and their names are Tony Gibson and Raymond Broady. Any similarities between these guys and the heroes of the Lethal Weapon franchise are entirely a product of your twisted mind. You should probably go and see a doctor or something; you're imagining things, seeing Lethal Weapon everywhere. Tony's surname is a mere coincidence, nothing more.

The call comes in from HQ - there's been a prison break! Tony and Raymond are woken in the middle of the night and tasked with rounding up the escapees. How will our heroes react to having their sleep disturbed?

Okay, wow. That's quite the opposing set of reactions. I mean, I'm very much not a morning person, but I've never declared a "kill time" when I've been awoken before my eight hours are up, sleep still crusting the corners of my eyes as I wearily load my revolver. Raymond has serious anger issues, and you'd hope he's not like that all the time because it'll put a serious strain on his partnership with Tony if it comes up on a regular basis. What if a crime happens during their lunch break or something? "I'm sorry guys, but you'll have to stop eating because there's a hostage situation downtown."
Tony: Well golly gee!
Raymond: I see, we shall move forward to the murder. *Begins silently loading his firearm*.

Right, here we are at the start of the game. Have a look at the screenshot, and then take a guess what the gameplay's going to be like. Go on, I'll wait. Done? If you said "you walk across the screen, jumping over obstacles and shooting bad guys in the face" then congratulations, you must have played a videogame before. Crime City is not an innovative game - in fact, it seems to borrow quite heavily from Namco's Rolling Thunder, particularly with your limited-ammo pistol and the way your health bar works (taking a physical hit decreases your health, getting shot is instant death) but without the jumping between different vertical levels and hiding in doors that's so prevalent in Namco's title. As always, the goal is to reach the end of the stage and defeat the boss. Like I say, Crime City is about as fresh and original as a Bruce Forsythe comedy routine.

Back to the prison break, then. Having escaped from jail, the inmates decide to grab their guns and head straight to the city's shopping district en masse for a spot of retail therapy. It's hard to keep up with the latest fashion trends when you're banged up - just ask this guy in the bright green suit, complete with Peter Pan hat. No wonder he needs a gun. At least Tony's clothes look like something a human being might have conceivably once worn in public, although his common-sense outfit is rather undermined by the way he minces across the screen.
That yellow-and-white thing in front of Tony is a bag of drugs. I don't know what kind of drugs - although it's definitely an insidious poison and not insulin or something. Given that Crime City is about urban crime and was released in the late Eighties, it's almost certainly some kind of new, ultra-addictive and utterly deadly designer drug called something like Thrill or Grind or Salad. Enemies sometimes drop these bags of Flunk when defeated, and you can collect the drugs for points. Remember that, kids: if you see a bag of drugs make sure you pick it up, especially if you find it near the corpse of a gang member.

The first stage is short - Crime City's shopping district is small, what with all the crime and all - and soon enough you'll reach the first boss. His name is Joe, and he's got a machine gun. What he's also got is the IQ of a small potted plant. He can't escape from behind those boxes, which is ironic given that he presumably led the jailbreak in the first place, and the bullets he fires move so slowly that the only way they could hurt you is if they suddenly developed sentience and started calling you mean names. All you have to do is crouch behind the boxes, wait for Joe to finish firing, stand up and execute him in a manner that will probably lead to an internal investigation (although you will be cleared of all charges in the end).

Oh look, we made the front page. Is Tony trying to put the cuffs on Joe? I think it's a little late for that, man. Also, STOCK PRICES. The Daily Taito isn't afraid to tackle the big stories, I see.
Now that the first stage is over and I've spent a little time in Crime City, what can I say about it? Well, it's fun. Nothing fancy and certainly nothing original, but it gets the basics right. Tony controls nicely, the level design so far seems challenging but fair, and Taito have given it such a thick layer of the bizarre, colourful madness that defined late-Eighties/early Nineties arcade games that it's impossible not to smile when you're playing it - the over-the-top and weirdly translated text, the fact that half the enemies look like rejects from West Side Story, Raymond's descent into madness, everything comes together in a rather satisfying way.

A bank robbery is the theme for the second stage, and Tony is rushed to the scene by helicopter. Well, not too the actual scene: for some reason, you're dropped off on top of traffic hurling along a motorway. Am I sensing some hostility towards our hero from the other officers of the CCPD? "Sorry Tony, we can’t take you all the way to the bank. Budget cuts, you know? Good luck!" And then a motorcycle tries to insert itself into your intergluteal cleft. Thanks, guys.
So, you hop your way along the cars. Falling onto the road means instant death, which seems fair enough. Once you've traversed enough vehicles, you can move on to the second part of the stage.

It's an underground garage filled with even more dangerous cars than the bloody motorway, constantly trying to ram you as you make your way through. Duke Nukem has snapped and taken a girl hostage, possibly as revenge for his treatment in Duke Nukem Forever.

Then there's a rather abrupt shift to an into-the-screen shooting section that works much like the similar stages in Contra, except not as maddeningly difficult. I don't know why it's here, and there aren't any more of them in the game, but hey: it's a change of pace, at least. Once you've made it through the Parking Lot of Pain, you'll emerge in the bank itself, ready for a confrontation with Richard the Bank Burglar.

Not wanting to be outdone by Duke, Richard has taken a hostage too. By the looks of her, she's Jessica from Final Fight, so Richard should count himself lucky that it's Tony that turned up to save her and not her dad. Richard has a shotgun that can make fighting him tricky, but as you can (not) see from the picture, Tony's latent mutant ability to turn invisible has just activated after being kicked in the head by a fat man in a ski-mask. You can't hit what you can't see, and soon Richard is dead and Jessica can return home to Metro City.

The next crime to fight is a smuggling operation that operates out of a junkyard. It's a nice, isolated spot for gunning down criminals without worrying about things like arrest procedures or human rights or the police department's ammunition budget. You know, for all that the Daily Mail and Britain's other right-wing rags bang on about the evils of videogaming, you'd think Crime City and other games of this ilk would be right up their alley. Criminals? Shoot 'em all, that's what I say! Justice should come from the barrel of a gun! They're sub-human scum who don't deserve to live, and they're probably... foreign, too. Disgusting!

Earlier I mentioned that Crime City takes its inspiration from Rolling Thunder, which seems appropriate given that these cops have a special attack - a rolling attack. Holding diagonally down and pressing jump makes your character roll around like an excitable child at a school sports day, and unlike the usual defensive roll found in videogames this human cannonball act can be used to attack. You're not immune to bullets when you're using it or anything, but if you're careful you can complete the first mission and large parts of the rest of the game just by doing roly-polys everywhere. You can even launch yourself into their air and do it, surprising your foes with the full weight of the law and the full weight of a grown man curled into a ball.

The second half of the stage takes place in the obligatory warehouse. After all, where else are you going to store your illegally-smuggled good? Waiting at the end is the boss, a rotund man called Fritz who carries what appears to be (judging by the projectiles it fires, at least) the cannon from a pirate galleon. I hope that's what he was smuggling into the country, looking to score a lucrative deal with a pirate-themed supervillain and his ship's crew of hired goons.
Yet again, Fritz is a boss who is trapped behind some boxes. This time you have to jump and shoot him. It's not a difficult fight, and soon Fritz is dead. I mean, incarcerated. Yeah. No time to relax, though: the mayor has been kidnapped!

Ah ha ha ha! "Oh maaaaan, kidnapped again? Mom's gonna kill me!” I should forgive the mayor his sudden lapse into teen-speak, though - it must be traumatising to be kidnapped by a 1950's biker and a man with a baguette for a head.

Our hunt for the mayor leads us back onto the streets, although these streets are meaner than the ones in the first stage. They're also a lot busier, with enemies constantly appearing from all angles, throwing fire-bombs, taking pot-shots from high windows and wearing fetching maroon denim ensembles. Crime City is starting to get quite tough now, but I've got to give credit to Taito for implementing a pretty smooth difficulty curve in a game this short. It never feels unfair, just challenging, and that's something that any game should be commended for.

Here's the boss. He's called Bob. Hello, Bob! Nice weather we're having, eh? Oh, I see you’ve tried to kill me with a flamethrower. Well, if you're going to be like that I shall be forced to fill your kneecaps with enough lead to sink an aircraft carrier. Fuck you, Bob.

You'd better tell him, Bob. Tony is the good cop. You don't want Raymond to interrogate you - not if you ever want to be able to look at your genitals again without throwing up.

Either Bob told the cops where the mayor's been taken, or they just burst into a random office building and started shooting everyone inside. Either option seems equally plausible. If it was a random choice, it was a bad one because this otherwise normal-looking office building has laser cannons mounted to the ceiling. I don't know why: to prevent the staff from wasting time on Facebook, maybe? I'd make a joke about "getting fired" here, but we're both too good for that.

Not wanting to risk facing more laser cannons, Tony decides that the best way to proceed is to take a tiny elevator down to the ground floor, via the outside of the building. A helicopter appears, but it's too shy to appear on screen properly and ends up being an easy target. Still, all this high-tech hardware must mean they're taking me seriously. It'd be nice if my superiors gave me a little support, though - where's my squad car, or SWAT backup, or even a bullet-proof vest? No wonder this is a City.
Once you reach the ground floor, there's a short section on the streets and then bam, you're at the final boss already. Who is the mastermind behind this nefarious scheme? What twisted genius would dare to enact a plot so fiendish?

Oh, it's the mayor. Wait, what? Well, it's definitely not a twist that I saw coming, or indeed one that makes much sense. The only explanation is that the mayor is suffering from an extreme case of Stockholm Syndrome. He's had his head turned by the exciting life of an outlaw - his cushy job in a comfortable office just wasn't real, man! The street is where a man can feel truly alive, alive for the first time! So he grabs another pirate cannon and starts blasting away at the very man sent to save him. What an ungrateful arse.
He's trapped behind more boxes, you'll notice. Just jump and shoot. All crime can be solved by jumping and shooting, as long as there are enough boxes around. Boxes are the very foundation of our new, just society, where Tony and Raymond reign over all as the Supreme Law.

Okay, now I'm confused. Tony is confused, too. You can tell by the way he's flouncing off screen.

The Daily Taito has a fresh new look, but they're still spelling words wrong in their front-page headlines. Poor show, 3/10. We did apparently rescue the mayor, though, so there's that. Now the mayor owes us, we can manipulate him into making all those lawsuits from the families of the criminals we murdered disappear. Beautiful.
With that, Crime City is purged of all forms of villainy forever and ever. It'll have to come up with a new name now. Personally, I'd go with Box City, change its flag to a box on a plain background and give the Mitchell & Sons Crate Manufacturing Company the key to the city.
Rather than any credit being given to the people who actually made Crime City, the ending consists of a sunset scene with a scrolling list of all the characters in the game.

That's how I knew all the boss' names, you see. Although I'd have called the fourth stage's boss Bob anyway. He looks like a Bob. This is jolly and everything, but then the game suddenly throws a curveball at you.

So Mike the mayor was kidnapped by his evil twin brother Tom, for reasons we can only guess at. Assuming that's what (BROTHER) means and he's not a monk or something, anyway. Nice of Taito to really flesh out the story there.
Never mind the revelations about fraternal kidnapping: here's my favourite part of the ending.

Bob, boss of punks, seducer of women, haver of baldness, liver of life!
I complained about Rise of the Robots being stale and unoriginal, so what's the difference between that and Crime City? For a start, CC is fun to play. It does exactly what's expected of it, and it does so without ever frustrating you with shitty controls or arbitrary deaths. It's a short game, optimised for the coin-sucking arcade market, but that's part of its charm - it never outstays its welcome. While it doesn't add anything new, it also doesn't completely ignore/refuse to include any of the features and advancements of games that came before it, unlike Rise of the Robots (you can't turn around in the Amiga version. I still can't get over that).

Oh, and you enter your name on the high-score chart by shooting it full of bullet holes. That's pretty neat.

You want an espresso shot of no-nonsense arcade action dressed up in wonky mistranslations and cheerily colourful graphics? Then give Crime City a shot - you'll probably enjoy it. Just remember - these cops may be the Supreme Law, but crates save.

P.S. Did you enjoy the adventures of Tony and Raymond? Does your heart yearn for just one more encounter with these paragons of lawful excellence? Well you're in luck, because it turns out that Tony and Raymond are also the stars of Taito's police driving game Chase H.Q. Here's a bit of text from the Chase H.Q. flyer:

They also appear in the CHQ sequel Special Criminal Investigation. So there you go - three seemingly-unconnected games that actually share the same heroes.

07/02/2012

RISE OF THE ROBOTS (SNES)

Everybody deserves a second chance, right? Well, maybe not. I suppose it depends on how badly you fucked up the first time - I mean no-one's going to let Hitler have another crack at running Germany, are they? Videogames are much different than genocidal dictators, though, and maybe when you slated that one game, you got swept up in a blizzard of bad review scores or the bitter put-downs of your friends. Maybe that game you decried as an unplayable piece of shit in your callow youth is, in fact, a deeply flawed but still interesting title, maybe with some innovative features or excellent music or something to recommend it. That could well be the case with many games. Mirage's 1994 beat-em-up Rise of the Robots is not one of those games.

When I started replaying Rise of the Robots, (or as we call it here in Yorkshire, Rise uh t' Robots,) I thought hey, this'll be easy to describe - everyone remembers RotR. It was infamous, a gaming horror story to be relayed to your friends in the same way you might tell the tale of a hook-handed cannibal around a campfire. You think you're tough because you played Mario is Missing? Well, I suffered through Rise of the goddamn Robots. Cue sharp gasps from all present, followed by the consoling looks of those who are sympathetic but also glad they'll never share your pain.

But then I realised that isn't the case anymore. RotR is nearly eighteen years old. A whole generation of people has grown up playing videogames since then, and they/you probably won't have a clue about gaming's most traumatic example of why you shouldn't put graphics before gameplay. Consider this article an educational tool, then - a warning from the past that's still relevant today.

RotR is a one-on-one fighter in the Street Fighter 2 mould, if the "Street Fighter 2 mould" is that black goo that surrounds the showers in student accommodation. Rather than a cast of expert martial artists gathered from across the globe, Rise promised to deliver what every young boy really wanted: fighting robots. I know I wanted a game about fighting robots, raised as I had been on a steady diet of Transformers and Voltron. There was no way this could fail, right? As long as there were robots and they punched each other, this was going to be the game that made SF2 look like Mortal Kombat and made Mortal Kombat look like a Punch and Judy show performed by two syphilitic tramps.

The prospect of gladiatorial cyborg carnage was merely a bonus, however. Rise of the Robots' real K.O. punch, the thing that would assure its place at the top of videogaming's Mount Olympus, the thousand-carat diamond in the game's already jewel-encrusted crown, was the graphics. These weren't just any graphics though, oh no: these were graphics so futuristic that Nostradamus once saw them in a vision and said "fuck me, there's no way anyone will believe these graphics. I'd better not write this one down." You know how Mortal Kombat used digitised "actors", filming real people performing martial arts moves and then using that digitised footage as the in-game sprites? That's how RotR worked, but instead of using inferior human meatsacks they created full CGI models of each robot and then digitised them.

That's, like, twice as futuristic as any other game, right? And to Mirage's credit, they graphics do look pretty good. For this article I played the SNES version, that being the version I was (unfortunately) most familiar with during my childhood. The sprites themselves aren't bad at all, and apparently it looks even better in the Amiga versions. They might look a little grainy in the screenshots, but when they're in motion they glide about quite nicely. They've got a lot of animation frames, they're smooth, what more do you want? Here's the thing, though - and this is a personal opinion about aesthetics, so feel free to disagree with me - digitised graphics look bloody awful, on the whole. They always did. I don't know if this is a widely-held opinion or if it's just me but I cannot stand digitised graphics. So, RotR looks pretty sharp for a game with digitised graphics, but that's like saying it's pretty handsome for someone who just french-kissed a hornet's nest.

Unfortunately, the above-average graphics are the game's sole redeeming feature. Things start looking bad with the appearance of the plot. These robots must have some reason to rise, after all, so Mirage did what all lazy videogame developers do: they got out their scrapers and set to work on the big barrel of sci-fi clichés. They came out with a real fistful over over-used plot-points, too: if it's about computers and it's bad, then it's in this game. Out-of-control nanomachines? Check! Artificial Intelligence reaches sentience, initiates Operation Kill All Humans? Check! Computer virus that can reprogram anything even tangentially related to a microchip? Check! The only thing that's missing is a robot being reprogrammed by lightning strike.
The overall gist, then - the "Supervisor" AI has gone mad. You are a cyborg, or rather you are Cyborg, and you're immune to the virus because you're got a squishy human brain encased in your crunchy metal shell. Defeat the Supervisor, save humanity, receive free chassis waxings for all eternity from a grateful populace. To save the world, you must defeat the six robots that stand in your way. Sounds simple, right?

Well, yes - RotR is a very simple game. It's extremely simple, in fact. This is because the developers looked at all the advances that had been brought to the flourishing beat-em-up genre through games like Street Fighter 2 and said "fuck that, we don't want any of those gimmicks spoiling our pure and unsullied fighting experience!” What you end up with is one of the most barren, empty videogames I've ever had the displeasure of playing.
The first problem is that you can only play as Cyborg.

He doesn't look great up-close, does he? As he's your only playable character, you'd be forgiven for thinking that Cyborg comes packed with combat techniques, or possibly the downloaded memories of history's greatest warriors, or at least some kind of cyber-truncheon for clobbering his enemies. Of course, he has none of these things. He can punch, he can kick, and that's your lot. No particle cannons or energy swords here, just the kind of generic melee attacks that you'd learn on your first day at Kickboxer School. Honestly, there's no evidence that Cyborg is actually a cyborg at all. I mean, just calling yourself "Cyborg" doesn't make you a cyborg, otherwise I'd have changed my name to Godzilla years ago. For all we know, he could just be a passing member of the Blue Man Group who happens to have lost all his clothes.
Sadly, Cyborg is all we have, so let's begin the "Arcade" mode and meet our first opponent.

It's a Loader robot, for loading things. Not for fighting. This should be easy.

And so it proves to be, because RotR's gameplay is even more horribly broken than the rest of the game. You'll immediately notice that the controls are slow and leaden; judging by the amount of time that passes between you pressing the button and a punch or kick occurring, Cyborg must have the computational power of a goddamn potato. There are no special moves at all, and as the punch has a much shorter range than the kick you'll quickly realise that the punch is functionally useless. By this point, you're down to three moves, total: kick, jumping kick, crouching kick. The bulk of the game consists deciding of which of these three attacks to perform repeatedly, and then doing so.

You see, the computer is monumentally stupid. Pretty much every fight can be won by simply walking forwards and pressing kick repeatedly. Your opponent will just keep walking into your foot, over and over again, the virus that turned them evil also having apparently disabled all of their senses and any combat programming they might have had.
If "walk forward and kick" doesn't work, why not try "crouch down and kick" like I did on the second opponent?

Not only does it keep the gorilla-shaped Builder at bay, it also affords you plenty of time to gaze at Cyborg's lovingly-rendered, ray-traced buttocks.

Next up is the insectile Crusher, although "Pincers" might have been a more apt name. Or "Snippy Harold". Jesus, something, anything to make this game more interesting. All of the robots in the game have the same set of moves, so you'll know what to expect already. He uses a lot of jumping kicks, and you might be tempted to try to block them, but don't bother. While you can block, you still take damage. So much damage, in fact, that blocking is rendered utterly pointless. I vaguely remember reading somewhere that the reason for this is that Mirage supposedly thought that their computer AI was so incredible that the CPU would be able to block every attack you could throw at it. The ability to hurt your opponent through their block was added to give you, a mere human, a chance of victory.
Or maybe the battle will pan out for you like it did for me - I hit the Crusher twice and then stood still. The Crusher also stood still. We both stood still, until the time ran out and I won by virtue of having more health. I've just noticed that health is called "NRG" in RotR. That alone is reason enough to never, ever play this game.

Having destroyed all the industrial robots we could find, we're finally faced with an actual fighting robot in the form of Military. I've got nothing to say about Military, really. He's very similar to Cyborg, except he'd got claws on his hands. We all know how long the military has been trying to come up with the ultimate delivery system for fingernail-based death, and this robot just might be it. Personally, if I'd spent hundreds of billions of dollars on an indestructible war machine I'd expect it to be able to eliminate targets from a distance of more than seven inches.
Forget this prick, though: look what is promised to us on the intro screen!

Music by Brian May, guitar maestro of rock legends Queen and Doctor of Astrophysics? Incredible! Maybe RotR can yet redeem itself with some tracks from a true great of classic rock!
No, of course it fucking can't. Despite the neon-green promises of the opening screen, Brian May's music does not appear in this game. Sorry, I tell a lie, there's a roughly ten-second long clip at the start of the game, but all the actual in-game music was composed by Mirage. Apparently issues with May's record label meant that RotR would have been delayed had they waited for May's soundtrack, so Mirage decided to just plow ahead without it.
I honestly think that this is the one element of the game that pisses me off above all others, more than the shitty, repetitive gameplay or the host of baffling design decisions. They couldn't even manage to get the bloody soundtrack into the game correctly! It seems frankly amazing that this game runs at all.

Comin' up next is the Sentry. Look at him, trying to impress us with his Tai Chi moves. Kicking his nickel-alloy ass will be a great pleasure and might also help relieve some of my frustrations about the whole Brian May debacle.

Ah. Maybe I spoke too soon. Sentry looks pretty big and he probably oh no wait I've just jump-kicked over and over until he's defeated. It's all just so tedious. Everything is syrupy-slow and loose, with no real sense of contact. There's nothing to learn, no skills to master, absolutely nothing to engage the brain (except to ponder the awfulness of this game). I'd rather be letting a robotic arm from a car factory chase me around with its welding attachment than be playing this - at least then I'd be getting some exercise... and then, just as I've given up all hope, RotR manages to make me crack a smile.
Between stages, RotR manages the admittedly impressive trick of playing some FMVs. Getting any kind of video onto a SNES cart, even the short, shrunken scenes in this game, is a real achievement and it shows that the only thing in this game that's handled in a less-than-ghastly fashion are the graphics. Mostly these clips show your opponent before and after the fight, with nothing particularly special about them, but the one that plays when you beat Sentry... I dunno, there's just something about it that makes me laugh every time.

He's just so casual about it. I'm not sure it's supposed to be funny, but Cyborg's nonchalant (and rather un-robotic) reaction to defeating Sentry is the one bright spot in this game, and by god I'm going to cling onto it like society's mocking laughter clings to a trainspotter.

After you've disposed of Sentry's remains, it's time for the final confrontation with the Supervisor. It's taken all of five minutes to get here, but it feels like an eternity. The Supervisor is a completely shameless copy of the T-1000 from Terminator 2, except she's sort of lady-shaped. Not that the T-1000 couldn't be a lady if it wanted to, it just decided that being Robert Patrick was a better bet. One thing the Supervisor has over the T-1000 is the ability to suddenly transform into whatever this is. A head massager? Lemon zester?

Terrifying, I'm sure you'll agree. Just kick her to death and get it over with. That's Rise of the Robots completed. Thank Christ for that. Do you get anything for completing the game? Well, it repeats all the cutscenes you've already watched under the guise of a "replay", does that count? The answer is no, it does not count.
It's rather telling that there are no credits at the end. I completely understand, guys - I wouldn't want my name to be even loosely associated with this. We'll just let Brian May take the fall, alright?
What you do get during the "ending" is a code to fight against the Supervisor in two-player mode. Did I mention there's a two player mode? Because there is, and it's even worse than the single-player game.

Player one can still only play as the Cyborg, while player two can choose his robot. However, no attempt at balancing the characters has been made. Player two could be the much more powerful Sentry and absolutely destroy the Cyborg every time, which is bound to get a little frustrating for the oversized synthetic Smurf.
There are also "Special" moves that can be enabled at the options screen. They're activated by tapping a direction four times followed by attack, and they grant you such game-breaking powers as invisibility, reversal of your opponent’s controls and complete fucking invincibility. Amazing. Here's a tip: never ask your friends to play RotR with you. Either you'll kill them, they'll kill you or you'll both leap off the nearest tall building in a double suicide bid.

If you've been paying attention, you'll have realised that Rise of the Robots is a truly atrocious game. Don't forget that this is the SNES version, though. This might blow your mind, but the SNES version is one of the better ones. The game was ported to many different consoles (including the 3DO and the Game Gear, of all things) and there were some differences between them. The SNES version, like I say, is one of the better ones. If you wondering how it could be worse, just ponder the Amiga version.
In the Amiga version, you can literally (and I do mean literally) complete the game by holding the joystick in the up-right position and holding down attack. The Cyborg performs flying kicks over and over again, and the enemies will eventually just crouch there and take it. Here's a video showing just that.


It gets better - in the Amiga version, you can't turn around. Cyborg is trapped, forever facing to the right, and if the enemy traps you in a corner you can kiss your ass goodbye because jumping over them isn't an option. Honestly, you can't turn around? The mind boggles. Amiga Power magazine famously gave this version of RotR a review score of 5% and frankly that's a display of generosity that makes Santa Claus look like Ebenezer Scrooge.

So what went wrong? How did a product so fundamentally broken manage to get a full-scale release? The answer is, I fear, down to money. Too much of it was spent on graphics, and by "too much" I mean "all of it". Actually, that's not true - the other thing that RotR had on its side was a gargantuan advertising campaign that pummeled gamers from all sides in the year or so leading up to the games release. There were magazine ads, TV ads, cinema ads, a constant steam of information leaked from the developers. There was even a RotR novel, for Christ's sake - if it's anything like the game, it'll be six pages covered with the ink-smeared imprints of a baboon's testicles.
So, between the graphics - this was a time when CGI was the big, expensive thing - and the advertising, there was nothing left for anything else. The graphics will have taken so much room on the cartridge (or disk - the Amiga version ran to 13 disks) that everything else had to be left out to make space. You know, things like options and game modes and fun. Terrible clunky gameplay, an utter lack of imagination, the same old videogame clichés recycled over and over again, the fact that the music isn't by Brian May - it all adds up to something especially terrible. The lesson we can take from all this? Never, ever put more emphasis on graphics than on gameplay unless you're making some kind of art-gallery-visiting-simulator.
As I said at the start of this article, some games deserve a second chance... but not Rise of the Robots. It really is as bad as everyone says it is.

The worst thing? It sold well enough to receive a sequel. Think on that as you lie in bed tonight, pondering the uncaring nature of the chaotic universe we live in.

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