Joystick Roundup

Readers of old magazines such as Zzap!64 or Amiga Power will recall that every once in a while (usually when it was a quiet month for new releases) they ran features on the best joysticks. To keep up this tradition, I’ve decided to do my very own Top 5. I know. Whoo-hoo, right?

Anyway, to keep the subject manageable, I’ve imposed a couple of rules on myself:

  1. Joysticks only – none of these nasty, new-fangled controller things, thank you very much.
  2. I have to have owned the joysticks in question, not just used them at a friend’s house.

Given these restrictions my choices are effectively narrowed down to Commodore 64 and Amiga joysticks – the systems I owned when I was younger.

So here we go: counting down from 5 to 1, my top 5 joysticks.

5. Quickshot II

Joysticks - Quickshot II

I’ll be the first to admit that this was not the best joystick in the world. Whilst it was a perfectly adequate controller, it could be a little fragile. The micro-switches in particular had a tendency to break (making it a complete no-no for games like Daley Thompson’s Decathlon) and after very heavy use, the top fire button had a tendency to become unresponsive. It wasn’t the cheapest either, so when competitors became available, I quickly jumped ship and kept this as a reserve joystick (aka the crappy one you gave to friends for 2 players games).

It makes the top 5 for purely sentimental reasons – it was my first joystick. I can vividly remember pretending I was a fighter pilot even as I was waiting for my very first C64 game to load and it brings back a lot of fond memories. For that reason, it just scrapes into the Top 5.

4. The Little Brown Joystick Whose Name I Can’t Remember.

Joysticks - The Small Brown One

Mmmm. This blog post is going well isn’t it? Only two entries in and already I’ve included a stick I’ve admitted wasn’t that great and now one I can’t even remember the name of.

This was a joystick that my mate bought me for my birthday from his mum’s catalogue. All I can remember is that it was quite small with s square, brown based. The stick itself was black and fairly small (around the same size as the old Atari joystick but much thinner). It looked a bit like the one in the picture, but that’s not exactly right.

Even though my memory is failing me as to its name, it fully deserves its place in this Top 5 because it was a cracking little joystick. The square base meant it fitted firmly in the palm of your hand, whilst the stick itself was incredibly responsive. Although there was a significant amount of travel (the old technical term Zzap! used to use, and which I’m sticking with), it responded to your movements very quickly. The big travel distance actually made it ideal for games like Decathlon or Summer Games as you could waggle furiously without too much risk of destroying it. It also had the advantage of being very cheap (which I suspect is the attraction it held for my mate when he bought it for me).

If anyone knows which stick I’m talking about, despite my very vague description, do let me know.

3. The Bug

Joysticks - Bug

I didn’t come across this one until I owned a C64 for a second time, but it quickly established itself as a favourite.

The bug was certainly an odd looking joystick. It was very small, had strange bulges everywhere (making it look like a bit like a bug’s face, hence the name), a tiny stick (stop it, madam) and an oddly-placed fire button.

Despite these seeming disadvantages, the Bug was a brilliant joystick. Like The Little Brown Joystick Whose Name I Can’t Remember, its small size meant that it was easy and comfortable to hold for prolonged gaming periods. The almost elliptical shape meant that it fitted in the palm even better than The Little Brown Joystick Whose Name I Can’t Remember (after all, who has square palms?) and I found it perfect for shoot-em-ups in particular.

I may have discovered The Bug late, but I quickly became a fan.

2. Powerplay Cruiser

Joysticks - Cruiser black

This was a somewhat divisive joystick, but I was firmly in the “love it” camp. With its rounded base and big round knob at the top of the stick (I said STOP IT, MADAM), it wasn’t much to look at, but it worked well. The stick felt tight and responsive and there was minimal travel, making it ideal for games needing quick reactions. Unlike many joysticks, it came in a choice of colours (black remained my favourite – hey I was a teenager – but gaudier options were available) and it was cheap. Extended use did result in a tendency for the case to crack, but this was just your computer’s way of telling you it was time to treat it to a new joystick.

The main downside was the industrial strength suckers that sat on the base. During lengthier periods, it could become uncomfortable to hold, meaning you had to put it down onto a hard surface to continue playing. Once you did, the suckers stuck to it like a limpet fighting the tide and your only hope of ever removing it was to call Arnold Schwarzenegger and ask him to pop round to help you out. Arnie was such a frequent visitor to our house, he had his own mug and everything*

AND THE WINNER IS…

 

1. ZipStick

Joysticks - Zipstick

With its black plastic futuristic looking casing (look – it was the 1980s, EVERYTHING looked futuristic) and square yellow buttons, the ZipStick was certainly a joystick that screamed “look at me”. Thankfully, it backed up these good looks in the game playing arena, proving robust, responsive and comfortable. In fact, it was so durable, I can’t remember ever busting a ZipStick

So the Mighty ZipStick is officially crowned as RetroReactiv8’s Joystick of Champions.

The Conclusion Bit

Before you all go away and do something far more important, I just want to give an honourable mention to the old Atari VCS joystick. This didn’t make it into the final cut because a) I never owned an Atari (although I did play one extensively at my friend’s house) and b) it was a horrible joystick.

Anyone who has ever used one will remember how stiff (Madam, I am going to have to ask you to leave) and unresponsive it could be. After only a few games, your hands would be aching so much that you were convinced they would drop off, yet you still kept playing, trying to wrestle this unwieldy thing to move a bunch of pixels in the right direction.

It gets an honourable mention for the same reason the QuickShot II made the cut. This was the very first joystick I ever used in my whole life and so was my gateway to gaming. It might have been a horrible piece of kit, long surpassed in terms of design, comfort, user-friendliness and just about everything else, but it was iconic and  I still get a warm, fuzzy feeling when I see one.

Just so long as you don’t actually make me use it…

 

* May not actually have happened

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KikStart II (Commodore 64 Review)

kik-start_2_01

Retro gamers of a certain age are likely to recall with some fondness Kick Start (or Junior Kick Start for younger competitors) which was often a staple of the TV schedules during the long summer holidays. The programme was essentially an obstacle course for motorbikes, with the rider who completed the course in the fastest time declared the winner. It also had a jaunty little theme tune which you’re probably now singing even as you read this.

Shaun Southern’s KikStart series, on the other hand was completely different. The game was essentially an obstacle course for motorbikes, with the person who completed the course in the fastest time declared the winner. It also had a jaunty little theme tune which you’re probably now singing even as you read this.

Oh, who am I trying to kid? The KikStart games were a pretty blatant rip-off of the TV series. Barring a copyright-infringement dodging dropped c and missing space, it’s pretty clear where Shaun Southern took his inspiration from. But then again, when the game is as good as this, who cares?

The original KikStart was decent enough, but it’s sequel was simply superb. Look past the fairly bland graphics and pretty basic sound and you found a game that was perfectly designed, incredibly addictive and immense fun to play – especially if you roped in a friend and tried the game’s two-player mode.

In one sense, the game was relatively simply – you drove your motorbike along the screen from left to right, across the various obstacles to the finish line. Obstacles included jumps, balance beams and logs which you needed to bunny hop across. The whole thing was done against the clock, racing against either a computer controlled or human competitor the winner the one who reached the winning post in the fastest time.

That all sounds pretty simple right? Just rev the throttle up to maximum and hurtle your way along the course as fast as possible, surely? Wrong. And don’t call me Shirley. The beauty (and depth) of the game came from the fact that the various obstacles were beautifully implemented, making the game a perfect balance between speed and patience, risk and reward. Take some obstacles too quickly and you would fall off your bike; take some too slowly and… you guessed it, you’d fall off your bike. Falling off attracted a time penalty, meaning your chances of winning were reduced. You needed to judge exactly how fast you could safely take each obstacle (and some of the obstacles could be very precise), keep an eye on how your opponent was doing and (since obstacles often came thick and fast) be aware of what was coming up next so that you could increase/reduce your speed accordingly.

A friend and I played this endlessly over the Summer of ‘87. We never got bored of it and, in the end, got really good at it, knowing exactly what speed to take the various obstacles for that maximum balance between speed and safety. We both got so good that we reached the stage where the computer opponent was totally unable to beat us. Yet still the competitive element of trying to beat each other kept us coming back. Once we’d got so good at that that we would literally finish courses within a tenth of second of each other, there was always the challenge of trying to beat the best time recorded on each course (and, of course, we diligently recorded all the best times in a little book, together with who had achieved them). When it came to KikStart II, the word “addictive” found a new definition in that summer of ’87.

Even when you mastered the 24 in-built courses, the game still had one final trick up its sleeve in the form of a course designer which allowed you to create and save your own courses. This was brilliantly simple to use, although (in my experience) merely highlighted how difficult it actually was to design a course which was challenging, yet playable and fun – yet more evidence of how well-designed the supplied courses were.

And the best thing of all? KikStart II was released on the Mastertronic label and cost a paltry £1.99. For an original game (albeit a sequel), this was an absolute steal. How the game wasn’t awarded a Zzap! Sizzler is beyond me (it scored 86% in the September 1987 issue). However, I’m sure that Shaun Southern will be more than consoled by the fact that, almost 30 years after its release, it made its way into RetroReactiv8’s coveted (by me at least!) Top Ten Commodore 64 games!

My personal franchise failures

For those of you that don’t read it, the latest edition of Retro Gamer magazine here in the UK had a massive, 16-page feature celebrating the 30th anniversary of the Final Fantasy series.

Whilst the article was as well-researched and written as most of Retro Gamer’s articles, this one really held little interest for me, as I’ve never played a Final Fantasy game – I don’t enjoy RPGs and so the series has never appealed to me.

The article did get me thinking, though, about how many successful, “classic” retro gaming series I’ve not actually played, and there are some pretty big names in there. I’ve already confessed to barely playing any Mario games and the same is true for Sonic. Although I have played both the original and its sequel via emulation, the only Sonic game I’ve played on original hardware is Sonic Colours on the DS.

Similarly, The Otaku Judge recently posted an (as always) excellent review of the new Castlevania TV series, and I had to confess that, once again, I’d never actually played a Castlevania title.

When I stopped to think about it, the list grew longer: I’ve never played an F-Zero game or a Zelda title; Altered Beast and Eternal Champions mostly passed me by. I’ve played the odd bit of Mortal Kombat and Street Fighter, but not a massive amount; MegaMan and BomberMan mostly remain strangers to me and so on. How on earth can I call myself a retro gamer when I have little or no experience of all these classic franchises?

Then it dawned on me how much your choice (or possibly more accurately, your parents’ choice!) of console or computer can impact on what you perceive as “retro games”. Of course, all the games mentioned above are retro games and fondly remembered by fans, but they are not titles that would spring to my mind if someone asked me to name some great old titles. Personally (and it’s clear if you look back at this blog’s content) my definition of a “retro game” tends to focus on Commodore 64 and Amiga titles, because these were the computers I had growing up.

Sure, with the advent of emulation, there’s really no excuse for not having played any of these games, but the truth is I often find emulation to be a bit unreliable, fiddly to get up and running properly and, frankly, often not worth the effort it takes. Whilst I’m not a purist, I do generally prefer playing on the original hardware because (providing you have the funds!) since it tends to produce a more reliable experience. And because (sadly), I have pretty limited funds, I tend to stick to collecting platforms and games that I already know, rather than branching out into new and (for me) untried areas.

So come on, time to ‘fess up. I’ve admitted to my shameful failings so now it’s your turn. What classic retro franchises have you never (or hardly ever) played?

Bruce Lee (Commodore 64) review

 

Blimey. It’s been a while since I added anything to this blog, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, RetroReactiv8 is still alive and kicking – it’s just that every time I sit down to try and write something normal life gets in the way…

Anyway, let’s get things back on track with a review of Bruce Lee on the Commodore 64.

Bruce Lee - cover

This early DataSoft game narrowly missed out on a place in my Top 10 Commodore 64 games a while back, and I felt a bit guilty about it. So now it’s time to redress the balance by giving it the full review treatment.

Bruce Lee is an early (and very successful) example of using a well-known name to sell a game. Happily, (unlike many similar examples), it’s a great game with a recognisable name attached, rather than a recognisable name linked to a rubbish game.

At heart, Bruce Lee is a platform game with some fighting elements thrown in. Bruce must negotiate his way across a series of screens, collecting the lanterns that are scattered around each level and avoiding the various hazards that will kill him if he comes into contact with them. Bruce is pursued by a black-clad Ninja and a green (bad sushi?) Sumo wrestler (which, for some reason, myself and a friend christened Desmond Littlefellow and (you guessed it) Desmond Bigfellow. They did actually both have proper names, but this is what we always called them, so it’s how I’ll be referring to them throughout this review).

The two Desmonds will pursue Bruce across the level and attempt to beat him up. Although you can outrun them (getting to the exit on a particular screen resets their starting position for the next level), you might prefer to teach them a lesson and fight them, since Bruce is pretty handy with his fists (and his feet), and more than capable of looking after himself.

Although both can be equally fatal to Bruce, Desmond and Desmond have distinctive fighting styles, making them challenging in different ways. Desmond Littlefellow is quick and agile, with a big stick that increases his range. However, his attacks are weaker and do a little less damage. Desmond Bigfellow is slower and heavier, but Bruce can withstand fewer hits before dying.

Like much else in the game, once you get the hang of the fighting, it’s pretty easy to make sure you rarely die at the Desmonds’ hands, but killing them never becomes dull. Indeed, the game should be applauded for the imaginative ways you can kill your opponents and there’s a sick sense of satisfaction to be derived from standing deliberately just out of range and luring them into a trap (such as an exploding firework) to dispatch them in new and interesting ways!

The platform elements are really well-designed. New hazards are gradually introduced (such as fireworks that explode a second after you have run over them or electrified areas where runs have to be timed right to get past). This gives a real sense of progress and achievement. Although there’s a reasonable level of precision needed, the game doesn’t feature the pixel-perfect jumping that made games like Manic Miner so hard. As such, I’ve always found it a lot more fun to play. With practice, you really start to make progress and levels become fun (leaving you free to do the above-mentioned taunting and luring). When you’ve finished the game, it’s an ideal candidate for a speed run, if that’s your thing, and the whole thing has a tremendous amount of replay value.

Bruce Lee - start

The graphics do an excellent job of creating and maintaining an appropriate and convincing setting and doing homage to a martial arts icon. Bruce Lee is instantly recognisable and fluidly animated. He moves with a real sense of purpose and style and is fast and agile, thus capturing the character extremely well. The two Desmonds are also well-animated, whilst the varied (and impressively big for its day) scenery definitely creates an oriental atmosphere.

Audio is similarly limited, but effective. The only music of note is on the game’s title screen, but it’s a brilliant piece that again adds to the oriental setting. The lack of in-game music doesn’t prove to be an issue at all, because whilst the sound effects are relatively sparse, they really add to the game. In fact, I genuinely think constant in-game music would have had a detrimental impact on the overall atmosphere and it’s better off without.

It’s interesting to play Bruce Lee again after first experiencing it as a child. I often bemoan my lack of gaming prowess, particularly as I get older and my reflexes get even worse. However, back in the 80s I really can’t remember ever beating Bruce Lee – something which, frankly, I’m astounded at now. Because whilst the game offers some challenge, once you’ve got the hang of it, it’s actually pretty easy to beat. I can now beat it every single time I play and on a couple of occasions have even got close to making it all the way through without losing a life. That is unheard of for me, so how I failed to beat it as a kid is beyond me.

Anyhow, despite missing out on a place in my C64 Top 10 games, justice has finally been done for Bruce Lee in the form of a complete review. The man was a martial arts legend and a Commodore 64 gaming legend. Not bad for someone who had been dead for over 10 years by the time this game was released.

Gaming Disasters: NATO Commander (C64)

NATO Commander box

When I was growing up, I was pretty lucky that I didn’t suffer too many gaming disasters. Money was tight and games were expensive, so using Zzap!64 as my bible, I carefully researched my gaming purchases to make sure I didn’t buy a dud. Occasionally, though, one slipped through the net: Outrun was one (bought based on my love of the arcade game, before I saw the Zzap! review), NATO Commander was another.

NATO Commander was an early computerised wargame. Playing as either the Warsaw Pact/Eastern Bloc countries or the Western European NATO allies, you had to marshal your forces, deploying them to ensure victory for your side. Each side had different types and numbers of forces, whilst other factors (such as terrain or the strength of the opposing army) influenced their effectiveness.

From the moment I opened up the box and loaded the cassette, I hated it. The gameplay and pace were (relatively speaking) slow and each move had to be carefully considered, weighing up the likely implications for your forces, rather than just charging in there, all guns blazing. After just a couple of games (in which whatever side I was controlling lost badly), it was consigned to the shelf, never to be retrieved until the day I sold my C64.

In fairness, NATO Commander wasn’t a bad game in its own right (it typically scored 3/5 or 7/10 in the reviews of the time). It’s just that it was the wrong game for me. I’m not the most patient person and text/graphic adventures aside, I prefer faster paced games, with shoot ‘em ups and driving games my favourite genres. NATO Commander was totally different to anything else I owned or played and the more considered style of gameplay was not for me.

To make matters worse, there were a couple of other things that really rubbed my nose in it. First of all (for no obvious reason), NATO Commander was more expensive than other games of the time (from memory, the standard price for a game at that point was £8.95, NATO Commander retailed at £10.95). Secondly, my C64 gaming setup involved a really crappy, ancient black and white TV (it was a rare treat when I was allowed to bring it into the lounge and put it on the big colour TV!). This had very dodgy brightness and contrast controls which made distinguishing between the different units (or even the different sides) almost impossible, rendering an already frustrating game (in my eyes) even more inaccessible.

NATO Commander screen

The worst thing of all, though, is that I only have my own stupidity to blame. Let me explain: I was never one of the cool kids at school and always struggled to make friends. I had a reasonable number of acquaintances (mostly fellow C64 owners with whom I used to swap games), but few people I would call real friends. One day, some of the cool kids were talking about NATO Commander and how they wanted to play it. Desperate to ingratiate myself (and because I already had a reputation of being able to acquire games), I blurted out “Oh, I’ve got that”, effectively committing myself to letting them have it.

I asked around all my contacts, but no-one had it, leaving me with two choices. I could either ‘fess up and admit I didn’t have the game (thus losing face and risking being ostracized even further) or I could go out and buy a copy.  And, like an idiot, guess which one I did. To make matters worse, in return for lending them the game, I got a copy of the rubbish Danger Mouse, so I couldn’t even console myself with the fact that I’d got a good game from the transaction.

To this day NATO Commander remains the biggest single mistake in my long gaming career, and sat on my shelf for years as a shameful reminder of my stupidity. Even now as a forty-something adult, I still feel a sense of shame that I was manipulated so easily and wasted so much of my hard-earned pocket money on something I never wanted.

I learned my lesson. From that point on, I never bought another game unless a) I wanted it and b) Zzap!64 (and to a lesser extent Commodore User) said it was worth buying. I also learned that I was never going to be in with the cool kids and, if that’s how they treated people, realised that I didn’t actually want to be part of their group anyway. Valuable life lessons indeed!

A Gremlin in the Works (by Mark Hardisty) [Book Review]

Gremlin in the Works slip case

There are retro gaming books and there are retro gaming books.

Then there’s A Gremlin in the Works by Mark Hardisty; the Rolls Royce of the genre

Thanks in part to Kickstarter there have been quite a few recent retro gaming titles focussing on specific software houses or publishers: 2 on Ocean (from Chris Wilkins and Bitmap Books), 1 on US Gold (Chris Wilkins again) and Gary Penn’ Sensible Software retrospective, just to name a few. All are excellent titles, but future publications will need to up their game if they want to match Hardisty’s effort.

The publication just oozes quality. It comes in a cardboard slipcase that holds not one, but two hardback volumes. Volume one covers the early years of Gremlin up to 1990, whilst Volume 2 charts the later years, up to Gremlin’s sale to Infogrames in 1999 and beyond and covers some of the publishers lost or unreleased titles.

Gremlin in the works books

From the very first page, it’s clear that this is no cheap cash-in job. It’s officially endorsed by Gremlin co-founder Ian Stewart and has a lot of input from him and other influential members of the Gremlin team. It looks at some of the development houses whose games Gremlin published and includes the recollections of the in-house programmers from the very earliest recruits, through to those who joined Gremlin when it was already established. Hardisty has even gone to the trouble of tracking down people who only stayed with Gremlin for a very short time or developers who only ever wrote one game for them in order to ensure this is as complete a history as possible.

The length of the book (over 570 pages across the two volumes) means that you never feel short-changed in terms of the content. Different elements of Gremlin’s history are covered in appropriate depth so that you never feel that an issue is being skirted over, but neither do you get bored by too much detail.

The content is presented in a Q&A interview format which works well, making the text short, punchy and very readable. It means that Hardisty can pose a question and then intersperse it with recollections from several of the contributors at once. Hardisty’s input is suitably anonymous – he simply poses the questions and then lets the interviewees speak for themselves.

Of course, this is a celebration of Gremlin as a publisher, so the general tone is pretty upbeat. That said, you don’t’ get the impression that it is a whitewashing of history and (as far as you can tell) the interviewees are being pretty honest. There are several occasions when various personalities admit that they didn’t get on particularly well in the past, or where they criticise some of the Gremlin management’s decision making, or the way they occasionally treated their staff. This tension is perhaps particularly apparent when US Gold’s Geoff Brown (who acquired a majority stake in Gremlin in the late 80s) enters the conversation and it’s fairly clear that his ideas for Gremlin were pretty divisive. There are also occasions when people provide different accounts of the same events, or contradict what someone else has said, demonstrating how people can perceive or experience the same events in very different ways.

The text is nicely broken up by various archival images, including old photographs of the Gremlin offices and teams, contract letters to publish games and royalty statements (if I’d know how much money there was to be made in those days, I might have made a bit more of an effort to learn programming sooner than I did!). These really help to capture the spirit of the times and the extent to which the industry was making things up as it went along, as how it changed over the course of Gremlin’s lifespan.

Moreover, the book is the gift that keeps on giving. A Gremlin in the Works is still a live publication and as Hardisty secures more interviews or writes new content, he sends out periodic updates (appropriately called “an expansion disk”) to new online content.

You’ve probably gathered by now that I really, really, REALLY like this book. I am sitting here genuinely wracking my brains for something negative to say about the publication (just for the sake of balance, you understand). So, for once, I’m going to give up on the negative stuff and stick my neck out and say that A Gremlin in the Works is the best retro gaming book I have read by some distance. If you don’t enjoy it, then you probably owned a Dragon 32 or something.

A Gremlin in the Works is available from the Bitmap Books website for £24.99 which makes it incredible value for money. As I said at the start, from both a content and quality point perspective, it is far and away the best retro gaming book I have read and it’s going to be a hard act for future retrospectives on the 8 and 16 bit software houses to follow.

In summary? Best. Retro. Gaming. Book. Ever.

Seabase Delta (C64) Review

SeaBase Delta cassett

When I was growing up, I had a slightly younger friend whose parents had bought him an Amstrad. My, how we laughed at him! And if that wasn’t bad enough, he only had the green monitor version which made all his games look like they’d been covered in grass. Needless to say we spent most of the time round at my house playing on the mighty Commodore 64.

Just occasionally, though, I’d take pity on him and we’d go round to his house to play on the Green Machine. Happily, there was one such occasion when this proved to be A Very Good Decision.

Knowing that I was a massive fan of adventure games, he loaded up his latest acquisition – Seabase Delta – a budget game from Firebird’s £1.99 range. We started playing it together and becamse completely hooked. Several hours passed, much progress was made and eventually, it was time for me to go home. I found I’d enjoyed the game so much that the very next day, I went out and bought my own copy.

Seabase Delta put you in the role of reporter Ed Lions (ho! ho!), trapped on board a submarine that had been captured by enemy agents and towed to an enemy base. Your task is to escape by using the usual assortment of odd objects that tend to get left carelessly lying around in adventure games.

Seabase Delta was written using The Quill software. This often (unfairly) became a byword for a poor game, but without ever being anything astonishing, Seabase Delta shows what could be done with the tool when used properly.

Sure, the parser was a little basic and the graphics weren’t anything to write home about (though they were perfectly adequate and added something to the atmosphere). As with many text-based adventures there were times when the game’s limited vocabulary was slightly frustrating. Unless you hit on the exact word or phrase, you’d get the ubiquitous “I didn’t understand” message, so even if you knew what you had to do, actually find the right words to do it was a whole new issue. On the whole, though, the game’s relatively basic parser worked in its favour since you only had to remember a limited number of verbs for most of the puzzles.

The text also had a rather pleasing sense of humour. It wasn’t as zany as some (like Monkey Island) or a skit (like Delta 4’s offerings), but it could still make you smile. The text descriptions and computer responses were written with tongue very firmly in cheek and the deliberately bad puns appealed to me at the time (and, if I’m honest, still do!)

Where Seabase Delta really shone was in the game design. Even though the game was limited to a single location (the enemy base), there were lots of locations to discover, plenty of puzzles to solve and dozens of items to pick up and use. Crucially – at a time when walkthroughs were hard to find – puzzles were generally pretty logical and, with a little bit of lateral thinking, could be solved by most people. This helped to give the game a real sense of progression and motivated you to carry on. Every time you “outwitted” the game and solved a puzzle, it felt rewarding and opened up a new area of the game to explore.

I can only remember one puzzle I got totally stuck on. It was one of those frustrating puzzles common to old adventure games, where I knew what I needed to do, but not how to achieve it. One task required you to get hold of an egg which could be supplied by an unlikely, but handily available, chicken. However, the chicken was asleep and wouldn’t lay until it woke up. Could I wake up that damn chicken? I tried absolutely everything I could think of (up to, and including hitting it with every object in my inventory), but progress came to a grinding halt. For months, I checked the computer magazines on the shelves of John Menzies (remember them?) in the hopes that someone would have sent the solution in to one of their tips pages, but with no luck. Then, just when I had given up hope of ever waking that chicken, one magazine finally printed the answer. (For the record, you had to chew the bubble gum you had previously picked up, blow a bubble and then burst it to wake the chicken. Obviously.)

That one frustration aside, Seabase Delta proved to be a lot of fun. The constant progress made it rewarding whilst the relatively easy-to-solve puzzles (chickens aside) kept frustration levels to a minimum. I’ve always been a fan of adventure games (and the purist in me has a particularly soft spot for non-point and click games) and from the 8 bit days, this along with Delta 4’s The Boggit, is the one that I remember most fondly.

(Actually, I tell a lie: I was also rather fond of Melbourne House’s The Hobbit because a) I first read and fell in love with the book around this age and b) my 11 year old self never  tired being able to tell Thorin to do unspeakably rude things to Gandalf!)

Anyway, back to the game in hand. If you were being critical, you could argue that the game was too easy – seasoned adventurers could easily complete it in a couple of hours – but given that it only cost £1.99, it offered tremendous value for money. Like most adventures, once you’d finished it, it was extremely unlikely you’d ever replay it, but again; given what you’d paid, this wasn’t really an issue.

The only other negative was the really poor ending which was the adventure game equivalent of “Then they went home and had their tea.” After all the work you’d put into solving the puzzles, the ending was a massive anti-climax– surely the least you could have expected was a pretty picture of you escaping the base? Still, it shows how good the game was that even this could not spoil my sense of fondness for the title.