Review: Chaos (ZX Spectrum)

Is it possible to review a 25-year old video game in any meaningful way? When considered in terms of the life-time of the medium and the technological advances which have since occurred, such a game is almost akin to the earliest novel off the printing press or the first moving images committed to celluloid. It could well be argued that any modern-day assessment is borne of historical, rather than actual gaming, interest. This is certainly true of games whose original appeal rested on pushing the performance envelope, or introducing some technological novelty (e.g., the first 3D graphics or the first digitised sound). Such achievements have long since been recreated elsewhere, refined, and far, far surpassed. But the appeal of some games is not in their “whizz-bang” appearance; it is in purer gaming terms. On that basis, I’d argue Chaos is still relevant today.

Publishers and developers love “whizz-bang” games because they’re easy to market, often requiring a single screenshot of the jaw-dropping visuals to leave people clambering to hand over their hard-earned cash. Chaos, on the other hand, would have proved a much harder sell. It doesn’t look impressive now, and it didn’t look impressive then. Being a young, undiscerning consumer of games at the time, I would have completely ignored it had it not been given away free as a Your Sinclair cover-tape. There are many reasons why I could cite Your Sinclair as a key force in shaping my young mind, but Chaos may well be top of that list.

Any attempt to describe the workings of Chaos is destined to make it sound dull and lifeless, when in actual fact it is anything but. With that in mind… The game involves a battle between wizards on a single-screen board. Each turn, players first choose a spell for their wizard to cast (e.g., summoning some kind of mythical creature), then move their pieces around the board. Different spells and creatures have various strengths and weaknesses, and can be utilised in different ways, but that, largely, is all there is to the game. But as we know from chess, from even simple gameplay rules, strategies can emerge. Contrary to the determinism of chess, Chaos is focussed around a strong random element, from the very spells you’re given, to whether spells and combat will succeed or fail, through to how the board evolves through the game. This reliance on chance results in a fairly level playing field for veterans and newbies alike, making Chaos both accessible and inclusive (not to mention enormously replayable). A sequel, Lords of Chaos, attempted to build on the strong foundations of its forerunner by adding in a story-driven campaign and more complex gameplay areas and mechanics. It was fun, but it lacked the purity and balance of Chaos. Rarely has the old adage “less is more” been more apt.

While Chaos does offer a single-player mode against computer opponents, it only really comes alive in multiplayer. In the days before the internet, this necessitated not only all your friends being in the same room, but huddled around the same computer. All eight of you. And you won’t find any no co-op or team play, it’s every-man-for-themselves. But that doesn’t mean off-screen, interim allegiances and non-aggression pacts can’t be formed as a few of you agree gang up on the player who looks to pose the major threat. Or has the crappest trainers. Friendship, though, is well and truly left at the loading screen, with back-stabbings and Machiavellian plots par for the course.

For a number of years, before the Spectrum was finally packed away to make way for the technically-superior Commodore Amiga, the 15-minute Battle Royals of Chaos were a source of pure joy for me and my chums. I can’t imagine my youth without them, and I honestly doubt I’d be the same person now (for better or worse). It really was that much of a gaming turning point for me. Chaos taught me many things. It taught me that substance trumps style, that simplicity is superior to complexity, that gaming is most fun as a social activity, but most importantly, that even a best-friend’s verbal pact is not worth the paper it’s written on.

Article: Throwing down the Gauntlet

Background: This is an article about the weekly arcade game challenges hosted by the Way of the Rodent

Each week, the Rodents are issued a challenge: Achieve the highest score in a classic arcade game. Fortunately, we don’t all have to trek to some decaying sea-side resort, pockets bulging with 10p pieces. No, through the arcane power of emulation (namely MAME: the Multi Arcade Machine Emulator), we can compete in the comfort of our own homes. For authenticity’s sake, I ensure that the air in my living room is thick with smoke and the carpet is nice and sticky.

About the Rodentia challenges

I’m a late comer to the Rodentia challenges, and while being woefully unqualified to talk on a subject doesn’t usually deter me, I’ll forego the potted history. What I will say, though, is why I got involved.

If you ever fire up MAME with a full set of games, you’ll be greeted by a list of literally thousands of forgotten classics. It’s somewhat overwhelming, and the ensuing binge is inevitable: Like a hyperactive kid given free-run of a sweet shop, you’ll hop from treat to treat without taking the time to savour any of them. Indeed, with each new game you try, you become increasingly curious about what the next may bring, to the point where you don’t even play out your first credit before moving on. And many of these games deserve better than that. Thus for me, the appeal of the Rodentia challenges is the focus they bring to that exhaustive game list, as through focus comes discovery: The challenge to better your own high score (as well as that of others) provides the motivation to keep coming back to the same game over the course of the week. By restricting one’s efforts to a single game, you even recapture a bit of that “new cab at the local chippy” feeling, the very nostalgic magic emulation is so often accused of lacking.

Games that are truly worth playing often have unique gameplay mechanics or elements which make them stand out from the crowd. Such unfamiliarity, however, takes time to master. Real classics contain subtle nuances and quirks which only reveal themselves after ten, twenty credits. And then there’s Q*Bert…

Q*Bert (Season 3, Week 12)

Q*Bert was my Rodentia challenge debut. It was so very nearly my swan-song. Before laying out the reasons why this is one of the most infuriating games I’ve ever played, I’ll attempt to surmise the game itself. You are Q*Bert: A fat, foul-mouthed, trunk-nosed, bouncing orange blob (think Jonny Vegas on a trampoline in a tanning salon). For reasons which almost certainly won’t become clear in time, your goal in life is to visit every corner of your isometric world, converting all you see from blue to yellow (like an overzealous Lib-Dem canvasser in a Tory strong-hold), while avoiding the ubiquitous menagerie of death-bringing swirls, drips and thingumies. But hey, the classics aren’t about plot, they’re about gameplay, right?

Well, this is where Q*Bert fails to shine. It’s just plain frustrating. While the behaviour of the random-things-to-avoid veers close to “devious” at times, it more often ends up “simply annoying”. Normally, I can glean enjoyment from even the most tedious of games, as I find measurable progress and improvement rewarding in itself. For me, Q*Bert didn’t even score on this count: I failed to find any productive strategy, and my demise seemed entirely the product of random forces, from my first play through my tenth. Now, a caveat is required here, as it is possible, even likely, that I’m just completely incompetent at this game: Other rodents managed to break through the pain barrier, from initial frustration to some zen-like state of quasi-enjoyment, so maybe there is fun to be had if you can preserve for long enough. I suspect, however, that the real explanation is that the little orange bugger’s incomprehensive profanities are actually some kind of subconscious trigger, and they’ve all been brain-washed.

Final Star Force (Season 3, Week 13)

Real life got in the way and I didn’t get ’round to playing this one. From the discussion of the competing rodents, it sounds like a pretty run-of-the-mill vertical shooter, though far from a classic example of the genre. I’m sure if I had of played it, I wouldn’t have come last in the point standings, as I did at Q*Bert.

Bombjack (Season 3, Week 14)

Now we’re talking: A bonafide arcade classic. Though unfortunately for my place in the Rodentia challenge rankings, not one I’ve spent a great deal of time with. Your task is to hop from platform to platform collecting all the bombs, whilst avoiding the ubiquitous menagerie of death-bringing swirls, drips and thingumies. Although this may sound somewhat familiar to Q*Bert, the gulf in gameplay is immense. Q*Bert allows movement up, down, left, right, in discrete amounts (i.e., you’re either on a particular tile, or you’re not. There’s no in-between), whereas the key to success in Bombjack is pixel-perfect precision in your Superman-like jumps. In time you learn to control your rate of ascent or descent, maybe even to the extent of hovering in mid-air. Gravity, however, will always ultimately win out and once you’ve started to fall, you’ve got to wait until you hit the ground before you can leap back up again. This simple mechanic is a classic example of “a minute to learn, but a lifetime to master”; I finished second to last in the weekly points table, suggesting I’ve still got some way to go…

Do! Run Run (Season 3, Week 15)

On first impressions this is yet another collect-the-tokens-avoid-the-baddies-’em-up. And Do certainly has more in common with the grid-based Q*Bert than the fast-paced aerial hijinks of Bombjack. After reluctantly plodding through my first credit, my finger hovered over the quit button. Fortunately, quitting wasn’t an option as my score looked really quite pathetic in comparison to the other Rodents. A few more play-throughs revealed a few novel gameplay elements, (e.g., you can also progress by killing the entire menagerie of death-bringing swirls, drips and thingumies with your bouncing ball). And before I knew it, I found myself having genuine fun, with a game I would never have given a second glance under normal circumstances!

Space Invaders (Season 3, Week 16)

Season 3 of the Rodent challenges was brought to a close with the grand-daddy of video gaming: Space Invaders. The premise, as if it really needs introducing, is simple: Shoot the descending aliens, don’t get shot. Despite its historic status, I was always quickly bored by the repetitive nature of the game and preferred to spend my pocket full of coins elsewhere. Having a score to chase, however, added just enough to the game to keep my interest for a decent number of credits.

The end of the beginning

So that’s Season 3 all wrapped up. Not every game was a true gem, but by shouting and swearing and yet playing regardless, I’ve gotten as much of a kick out of the ones I didn’t “enjoy” (I’m looking at you, Q*Bert), as the ones I did. And there’s a whole new batch of games awaiting in Season 4. Count me in. Maybe I’ll even pay some local youths to hang around menacingly in the corner of the room, to get that true arcade feeling!

Article: Living room gaming recommendations

Top five living room games. In general, puzzle games reign supreme: they’re quick, replayable, colourful and provide a fairly level playing field. But rather than list the top five puzzle games, I’ll try provide a slightly more varied selection here.

1. Tetris Attack (SNES)

Tetris Attack (which is more akin to Columns than Tetris, despite the name) sits atop of the puzzle pile for being the quickest, most replayable and most colourful. But primarily for its finely-tuned balance: There’s always a real chance that my girl will hand me my ass.

2. Puzzle de Pon (MAME)

More technicolour puzzle crack, accompanied by a soundtrack so catchy you’ll need a cerebral brillo-pad to remove it. (Puzzle de Pon is essentially just a Puzzle Bobble clone, but with one additional key game-play mechanic: It’s possible to actively win, rather than simply force your opponent to lose. In reality this makes zero difference, but the concept seems to be attractive to the fairer sex)

3. Lego Starwars (PC)

This game was designed from the bottom-up for co-op play, and being on the same team against a common enemy has huge advantages over competing with each other when you’re trying to maintain a healthy relationship. The game oozes character and charm, and there’s no real consequence for dying, which is vital for keeping the frustration factor nice and low.

4. Great Courts II (Amiga)

This early tennis sim requires quite a bit of hand-eye coordination, making this a bit of an advanced recommendation. Having said that, co-op doubles against two computer opponents can be a lot of fun and a very rewarding experience.

5. Street Fighter II (SNES)

I love this game and over the years have become somewhat expert at it. She threw the controller across the room and didn’t speak to me for the rest of the evening. The lesson I learned is that balance and learning-curve are the critical factors for living-room game selection. And that my sofa isn’t nearly as comfy as my bed.

Article: The living room gamer

Background: An article written for the emulation issue of  Way of the Rodent

The living room gamer.

Gaming is all about location, location, location….

For a very brief period in my distant, pickled-onion-monster-munch-encrusted past, gaming resided in the living room. It was heralded by that pivotal moment of the POMME era: The acquisition of our family’s first home gaming system, which in my case was the infamous the Atari 2600. Being a one TV household, the “authentic” wooden panelling of the 2600 had no choice but to shack up with our faux-pine-encased colour TV set. With all that fake wood, the glass coals in the gas fire and the plastic pot plants, our living room beamed with all the rustic charm of a laminated Argos catalogue.

The Atari 2600: Equally at home in the cigar-smoke of a gentleman’s club as it is under your crappy TV. Yeah, I said your TV’s crap. Pwn’d!

This was a particularly special event, as although my little brother and I had become well versed in arcade gaming through various camp-site games rooms around the country, this was the first time the whole family had partaken in the experience. Oh, how we laughed at the general ineptitude, as dad grasped the wrong end of the joystick and mum swayed violently in an attempt to corner a little tighter and thus gain the coveted Pole Position (there is much talk about the revolutionary nature of the Nintendo Wii, but really, how did it take 20 years to catch on to idea that people like to move the controller about?).

Pole Position? About half-way up, please.

Sadly, it this bout of familial gaming was all too short lived. Dad realised he was missing the 6 o’clock news and remembered the black’n'white “camping” tele’ in the attic (complete with loop antenna and dial tuner. None of that instant, “push button” madness: this baby required a good old fashioned retune every time you wanted to change the channel). And thus the glorious technicolour of Yars’ Revenge was dead to me, as my gaming life was forever banished to the bedroom. Perhaps it’s the bedroom-activity/ young-boy association, but since then I’ve always been somewhat furtive about revealing my gamer side to those close to me.

Yars’ Revenge: Because sentient robot houseflies need a hero too.

Until recently, that is. After connecting an old PC up to the TV to act as a DVR/jukebox, I thought, “why not get a couple of cheap gamepads and download a couple of emulators?” To my surprise and delight, my girlfriend, a devout non-gamer (she spends her free time doing constructive/creative things like jewellery making, book binding, knitting and other crafty bollocks), loves going head-to-head on simple two-player games. It’s mainly SNES and MAME games, usually of the puzzle variety. But still, I regard this as distinct progress, as she’s never thought to wander into the bedroom to play games (oo-er!). However, with everything neatly set up in the living room, gaming has become a regular occurrence. It’s so nice to share what, for many a year now, has been such a large aspect of my life.

Next time, I might provide some suggestions for living room gaming (The living room gamer, Part II. How to get a non-gamer addicted. Subtitle: The first one’s free). For now, let me just say I’m glad my significant other agrees that they don’t make games like they used to. Or perhaps we’re just a pair of whinging POMME bastards.