Wing Commander

 

That is one terrible title screen.

Wing Commander — I’ve heard tell of you. When people talk of you, they use words like Celebrated and Iconic, the kind of words hardly spoken in civil conversation. You dazzled the youth of my generation with cinematic style and your disagreeable attitude. Had I met you when I was younger, I made of taken a stab. I might have taken two stabs, in fact. Maybe after that I would have gotten bored and stabbed something else, but for that one shining moment, my dear, it would have been you, me, and a bottle of Koala Sparkling Beverage.

But, it was not to be. And instead, I meet you now, twenty years later, in the sleazy bar that is my emulator. And, while once you would have given me a new reason to live, now… now you’re just another Friday night. That is to say, another video game, alone, with a Diet Koala Sparkling Beverage, which I sure as Satan wish they still made, goddamnit. So, what’ll it be, Wing Commander? Will you command my heart, or merely the chest cavity nearest my heart, my left lung. Will it be romance, or just a fling in the back seat of my trousers? Will you rock my world or just drink all my booze and leave?

I'll get you, Skycross, if it's the last thing I do!

Well, I’ll tell you: this old bitch still got some moves in her.

Sure, she looks old, and she feels old, but the crab-tree that is Wing Commander has a certain something… some kind of flair, or something, that seems to stick around. Perhaps it’s the maddening frustration that comes from playing these games. Frustration, like yer old hamburger wit’ fries, is one gameplay mechanic that never goes out of style. When you feel that deep anger in the pit of your chest, oh: you know it’s something special; you know it’s meant to be. I get that feeling when I play modern day multiplayer romp-and-stomps. And when that bitch Spirit stole my kill, time and time again, I just wanted to gank the heck out of her. What kind of rookie is she anyway? She’s supposed to be all green and everything, but she’s one hot shot little punk! She just rides on up out of nowheres and boom, boom! And then she says, surprised, “Oh, captain, I think I got one,” like I’m going to give her a medal, or shine her toupee, or something. Look, missy, I’m the one playing the game, alright? I get to do the stuff, not you. Learn your place.

So, frustration. Yeah, that’s one thing this game does well. Let me tell you a story. So, I was looking for some aliens to zap (presumably out of sheer malice for their squirrelly selves), when I notice that I’m running short of fuel. Well, that’s harsh, I think, but this game certainly wont let me sit out here in the middle of space whilst waiting to get hunted down by some giant space crocodile, will it? It did. It certainly did. And it threw a bunch of asteroids my way, too, which I most obligingly hit, and promptly died. Not only did I die, but I DIED. All caps. They made me stop playing I died so hard. They made me start all over again! Good god, the realism is unsurmountable. Not since Hot Coffee has there been this degree of immersion in any one place at any one time!

 

"Oh, yeah! Do me, C.J.!"

Well, I’d had enough after that, and to the sound of my 20 gun solute (instead of firing the guns, they dissolved them in water), I said “QUIT, OH MIGHTY BEAST,” and, hence, I wrote this article thusly. And self-referentially, too, I might add. Take that Mr. Fitzgerald!

Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?

Thank you, helpful schlub

You’re an agent hot on the trail of a minion of the notoriously hard-to-catch-despite-being-dressed-like-a-fire thief Carmen Sandiego! Someone has stolen something from somewhere, and based on a series of geographic clues, you have to trail them around the world until you gather enough evidence to put out a warrant for their arrest. Sound fun? It is, kinda.

This is probably the closest thing I’ve seen to SNES game that manages to be educational and entertaining at the same time. As you fly around the world from place to place collecting information about your subject, you must display a tiny amount of geographical knowledge in order to follow their trail. “I saw someone like that,” says a helpful hotel clerk. “They were eating a red and white flag.” Red and white? Eating a flag? To Japan we go, land of the flag-eaters*!

While the music and the graphics in Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? aren’t all that great, they serve the game play quite well by presenting information you need in a clear and concise format. Well, the graphics present things. The music doesn’t present much. It just plays vaguely pleasing noises at you.

If you gather enough details about the appearance and hobbies and destination of your subject, you can issue a warrant for their death. Or arrest. Whatever. It makes you feel like an FBI agent who doesn’t know how to use the Internet and spends a lot of money on air travel.

When you finally capture your target you’re presented with a graphic sequence where you strip search and question them for hours, cumulating in water boarding them. It’s a strangely prescient look at today’s governmental institutions and their rampant abuse of naked time power.

In other words, fun!

* This is probably a fetish there since they have all of them. God they’re advanced.

WarpSpeed

I think I see something! Is it a fun game? No...no, my mistake.

It’s no secret that I’m burned out on writing these reviews, primarily because I just wrote “I’m burned out on writing these reviews” and you presumably read it, otherwise this whole thing makes no sense. To be fair I was burned out writing these reviews about 60 or so reviews ago, but I like to bite off more than I can chew and I have a giant mouth with some great big teeth. Great big teeth that I’m now going to sink into the tasteless sludge of a meal that is WarpSpeed. There, that was an intro of sorts. God I’m tired. So tired.

Who hasn’t wanted to pilot a spaceship? I might have asked this question before, but I’m still waiting for the imagination-free twat I know is waiting out there with some fun-busting negative answer. Until he or she (let’s face it: he) responds to me, I will blithely assume NO ONE. There’s NO ONE who wouldn’t want to pilot an intergalactic vessel with warp speed and phaser guns and sexy alien ladies and sweating. WarpSpeed is a game that has some of those things, sort of.

As you can see from the action-packed screenshot, this game is a little light on the graphics. You can see into the void and aim at the nothing through your reticule, blasting away merrily at whatever should venture into your sights. I found it difficult to aim at anything, let alone hit it, but keep in mind I’m a spastic manchild who blathers about SNES games until my eyes hurt and I yearn for the sweet pillowy embrace of Lady Death.

Navigation across the vastness of space is done by consulting a Battleship-esque (yes, I just wrote that) map that shows you the position of your enemies. Driving around trying to find them is so much fun I wrote a sarcastic sentence about it.

There are several different missions or modes or SOMETHING but I’m not really sure since every one I played involved me drifting around in space, occasionally shooting and missing enemy ships who would challenge me to a combat that I thought we were already having.

Sure, WarpSpeed lets you pilot a spaceship, but you don’t feel like a competent pilot in a good spaceship. You feel like a loser. A space loser.

Vortex

IN THE FUTURE THERE WILL BE A FUTURE WHERE THERE WILL BE A LONG PATH IN SPACE THAT IS A STRAIGHT LINE. THIS STRAIGHT LINE WILL BE A STRAIGHT LINE FILLED WITH VARIOUS TERRIFYING AND HUMONGOUS SHIPS! THE DEFINITE ONLY WAY TO DEAL WITH THIS IS TO GET INTO A BIPEDAL MAN-SHIP EVEN THOUGH THERE IS NOTHING TO WALK ON SINCE IT IS IN SPACE! HAVE YOU EVER PLAYED A VIDEO GAME? BECAUSE I THOUGHT I HAD BUT NOW I HAVE! BECAUSE I HADN’T BEFORE! I COULD BE PLAYING ONE ALL OF THE TIME IF THERE WERE MORE!

WHERE ARE ALL OF THE OTHER VIDEO GAMES? SO FAR AS I KNOW THERE IS ONLY ONE VIDEO GAME THAT IS IMPORTANT AND I ALREADY PLAYED IT FOR LIKE 20 MINUTES!

VORTEX!

THERE SHOULD DEFINITELY BE MORE VIDEO GAMES BECAUSE THERE ARE NOT ENOUGH OF THEM!

Vegas Stakes

The Maitre d’ looked at my worn trousers and ruffled blazer. Then he asked for my name. I told him it was Mr. Elefant. It made me sound big and imposing, two things I am most certainly not. I spelled it ‘Elefant’ — no ph — for two reasons: it looked more like a last name to me and I didn’t have enough room for the more traditional spelling. It was a fake name, of course. But this was Vegas; everyone had a fake name.

Some room I had. No television, no chairs — just a bed and a phone. Presumably, the drabness of the hotel room was intended to drive guests out and into the casino area. Never one to argue with well-devised population management techniques, I picked up the phone. “Craig,” I said to Craig, who was my friend. “Craig,” I said, “Let’s get sloshed and throw money at the mere concept of hope.” He said alright, and we began a mistical journey of sorts.

I called Craig because he looked like the best candidate for the position of My Wingman. He was blond, bright, and had a full-toothed smile that sent shivers down my heterosexual spine. Also, he was rich. In my years of gambling, I have learned this simple rule: money attracts money. So having a certified moneybags around was sure to be an asset. Down we went.

I told him to keep his fat mouth shut and help me take these shallow shells of human beings for all they were worth. He said that he wasn’t a betting man, but if he was, he would bet on my enthusiasm and talent any day. I gave him a high-five and we slipped into two chairs at the nearest blackjack table.

The dealer was probably of the weapons variety by the look of his scarred visage. “Oh boy,” I said to him, and I slapped down a 20-piece thing. It was a good day to die.

Suddenly, I realized something. Everyone in the place was looking at me. Fuck. They know I’m a genius at gambling, I thought. But they didn’t do anything, so I continued to play.

Should have gone for the insurance, whatever that means.

But it wasn’t going so hot. I kept dropping down 20-piece things and then the dealer would give me bad cards and then I would lose the money and then I would have to put down another 20-piece thing and then I would also lose that and then I would put down another 20-piece thing and then I would also lose that but I didn’t stop putting down 20-piece things and losing money because I knew that I was good at gambling and my luck would soon turn around.

I looked around again. Still staring. I was still the centre of attention.

But wait. I waved my hand in front of my face. I had no depth perception. What the hell? I checked my eyes. I had two, but I couldn’t see out of one. Why hadn’t I realized this? Then I looked back at the table; jagged edges.

“Shit, everything aliasing!” I shouted. No one reacted. They just looked at me.

The  I realized I didn’t know how I got here. I realized I didn’t even know my real name.

What is this?

“It’s a videogame.” Craig was staring at me from the seat beside me.

“What?”

“It’s a videogame.” Craig said again, in the exact same tone, with the exact same spacing between words.

Movement. A group of large men were approaching our table.

“Run.” Craig said, his toothy smile never wavering.