Despite releasing a couple years prior, Zombie Revenge pioneered Devil May Cry’s signature bullet juggling, all the way down to the enemy splaying out in the air as they bounce. In Zombie Revenge’s case, the rigid combo system with minimal interruptible frames makes the gun mandatory for linking strings, especially since it’s the most reliable OTG in your arsenal, and almost every full string forces a knockdown. It’s not merely a tool for styling on enemies either; it takes good timing to shoot a downed enemy in the window where they’ll pop back up for a juggle, as the game removes the property after a period of time or a failed attempt, and spacing the followup can be vexing depending on where they landed. Also unlike Devil May Cry, there’s an actual ammo system at play here with no manual reloading, so timing combos to fall earlier in your clip is essential. Tack on a substantial movelist with options for interrupt points, differently sized hitboxes, juggle/knockdown setups, and redirectable followups, and you’ve got a rather expressive combat engine for a game of its era.

Originally the start of the eclectic Hebereke series,¹ Ufouria had an unassuming localization for the European market that left it with few western fans until emulator-fueled retrospectives came along. After I dug past the first hour, I was shocked to find a sophisticated metroidvania structured hiding behind the ho-hum platformer up front. Ufouria gates its mechanics around different characters that must be “recruited” by knocking some sense to them in a quick boss battle (you and your friends have crash landed in a strange world, and said friends all have amnesia). Starting character Bop-Louie has little other than a jump, a divekick of sorts, and a charge attack, and your first two recovered friends don’t add much (other than Shades’ floaty jump), but once Bop-Louie gets a wall-suction maneuver, the game completely opens up. Climbing random walls or descending into pits not only reveals the usual one-off items and upgrades but often full new areas as well, including the final area of the game, which could theoretically be stumbled into on accident long beforehand. By the time you get Gil, the free-swimming final character, you should already have an item that gives you the location of almost every important item on the map, and it’s your job to roam around cleaning up unfinished business until you have three specific items that will take you into the final boss’s chambers. The small world already doesn’t take much effort to move around in, but shortcuts will become apparent as you play with each character’s movement abilities, and adding Gil to the party lets you access underground aqueducts that let you jump all over the map.

A group of veterans with credits on both Namco’s Ridge Racer and Sega AM3’s Sega Rally, the short-lived studio Sega Rosso plopped this into arcades at the turn of the millennium just after their back-to-back titles NASCAR Racing and Star Wars Racer Arcade. This side project, Cosmic Smash, is coolly minimalist in its series of abstract corridors and translucent blocks, all of which melt to black at the end of each level within the veneer of an interstellar subway tunnel. The equally minimal HUD contains only a timer in skewed perspective beside the player character. Each hallway area features a series of blocks at the opposite end from the player that they must hit with a ball and racket.¹ Upon destroying all colored blocks in an area, the player gains some bonus time and heads off to the next section, perhaps laid out in wireframe green, or seemingly floating in a white void.

I’m reluctant to do the full-throated condemnation of the expanded toolkit here because, outside of a comparison against the NES Castlevanias, it’s still restrained. Simon doesn’t move particularly fast, his jump height is fixed, and he still can’t jump off of stairs. The Ghost ’n Goblins games had presented more significant challenge with looser handling and free, rapid-fire projectiles, but they also leaned into dynamic enemies and random placements. Super Castlevania IV doesn’t just tack the other way on this, it falls short of even the game it’s ostensibly reimagining. Skeletons usually stay glued to the ground and move slower, and Medusa heads seem to not track the player at spawn time, to the extent that they often appear in places where they would never get close to grazing Simon. Enemies that do get spammed in every level, such as axe knights, skele-dragons, and skull cannons, all lack tools to chase down the player or prevent them from hitting from below, while the agile hunchbacks and dogs from the original game appear rarely or not at all. Arguably this game would have been improved if it was a 1:1 recreation of Castlevania with the new additions, using the original game’s enemy balance and AI rather than this neutered update.

An oddball Fromsoft-esque title with a similar sort of interplay between loadout, upgrade currency, and death mechanics. You play as a robot that can be equipped with weapons/armor on your head, arms, chest, and legs. Pressing the corresponding face button uses the equipment mapped to that body part, although the leg equipment is exclusively passive (the cross button is mapped to your chest). Using equipment raises the heat gauge for that body part, and when the gauge is full, the equipment is disabled until the gauge has fully drained. There is also a total usage limit for each weapon, which more or less acts as ammo. Double-tapping in any direction causes a roll or dash with full i-frames, each of which raises the legs’ heat gauge. The game is arranged into a series of floors in a tower, with the full eradication of enemies on each floor leading to a boss fight with a portal to the next floor. There’s a single place to save, restore one’s health/ammo, upgrade player stats, equip weapons, and change areas at the center of each floor. Upgrades to health, defense, maximum heat gauge, and weapon slots are conducted via “elixir skin” you receive from killing enemies or “restoring” (selling) equipment. Killing enemies occasionally drops weapons as well, with certain weapon “combos” activating “overkill” after death that supposedly raises the drop rate. Upon death, the player is sent to the first floor of the tower with all active equipment permanently lost, although all previously opened portals remain.

Although often inaccurately compared to Link’s Awakening,¹ Kaeru no Tame ni Kane wa Naru (officially translatd as The Frog for Whom the Bell Tolls), resembles something more like Freshly Picked Tingle’s Rosy Rupeeland, where cartoony dust-cloud autobattles replace the hack-and-slash and the adventure elements lampoon the genre. It’s less built around “setup-punchline” humor or anything truly absurd, and instead it leans into a light-hearted atmosphere where no one seems to take anything of consequence particularly seriously. You and your rival’s army of soldiers turn into frogs, guards for the evil empire chit-chat about anything mundane that comes to mind, and an entire town of miners loafs about drunk for lack of work. In the funniest segment, the Prince of Sablé, your avatar, sails to the headquarters of “Nantendo” to visit their R&D department. To gain access, you have to curry favor with the lead scientist by ordering the same sushi meal as him in the cafeteria; if you do so and then say that it’s tasty when he asks, he’ll berate you for your undistinguished palate. If you think this seems a little weak for a “best joke,” I’ll level with you and admit that I didn’t find the game game so much “funny” as “mildly amusing,” which begins ringing some alarm bells with how slight the rest of the game is.

Mizuguchi’s work incorporates musical elements without tethering it to rhythmic execution challenges. The player becomes an equal contributor to the creative tapestry of the soundscape rather than reciting canned phrases or demanding precision. As you move, rotate, place, and destroy blocks throughout Lumines, your actions directly accent the soundtrack and create new polyrhythmic layers over top of it, leading to a temporally fluid pacing that ebbs and flows with the eye-catching, psychedelic backdrops. The effect is subtle; auspiciously off-beat inputs will not result in any added sounds, and with enough play this absence becomes noticeable. You unconsciously begin to follow the tempo and create your own grooves through your play, and in this way the game manages to gently synchronize your input timing with a moving cursor that removes your grouped blocks. This cursor slides along in perfect sync with the backing track. Your button presses, twitches, and excited exhalations form their own accompaniment to the game, and Lumines codifies these subliminal impulses to alter the player’s behavior without letting them know explicitly.

Also known as Scary Dreams¹, Buster’s Bad Dream has slipped under the radar thanks to its incredibly delayed release stateside, its outdated cartoon license, and its overall limited presentation. If anything, the game has had more discussion as a prototype of sorts for Astro Boy: Omega Factor, both of which were programmed by Yaiman (Mitsuru Yaida, best known for leading Gunstar Heroes and the Bangai-O games). However, where Omega Factor and many of Treasure’s other titles focus heavily on setpieces, Buster’s Bad Dream’s restraint helps it stand out for those more interested in pure combat. The single-plane beat ’em up engine compares less to Treasure’s 16-bit days and more to Fill-in-Cafe games like Mad Stalker and Panzer Bandit, with deep toolkits that draw from contemporary fighting games more than belt scroller classics.

One distinguishing factor of vehicle games that tends to get lost in genres tied to humanoid avatars is that turning around can be rather difficult. When you’re driving a car, you have the option of either doing a 180° turn, subject to all of the dynamics that a tight turn involves at speed, or stopping to shift into reverse. Banishing Racer applies a rudimentary version of this on the 2D plane, where the main car refuses to ignore inertia and going backwards requires overcoming the forward force. It’s not realistic by any means – the other main movement mechanic is a forward dash that can also be done after jumping – but it helps differentiate the game from peers that had moved away from this handling model by the early ’90s.

In the era of Metroidvanias before Super Metroid, a dense world would still take the form of traditional single-directional platformer levels, just interconnected with ability-driven progression. Metroid II looks much the same as you descend down into SR388, wading through pitch-black caverns on your mission to eradicate every remaining Metroid on the planet. At most you’ll walk over a bridge or slide through a gap in the floor, but nothing lets you know the game’s true scope until you obtain the Spider Ball. With Samus now able to roll up walls, the player can start crawling up the outside of the ruins where they obtained the upgrade, revealing a far more vast, coherent structure than the truncated view from the entrance allowed. Probing in the ceiling and the high walls reveals new entrances, with new rooms segregated from the main halls and tunnels through rooms you’ve been through before. The NES forerunners of the Metroidvania pushed up against that system’s rigid scrolling system and tight screen buffer, whereas R&D1 squeezes a much more formidable world out of the Game Boy’s more sophisticated renderer.