• What We’ve Been up To

    It’s the update you’ve all been dreading: The admission by me that I’ve still been suffering from writer’s block for well over a full year now, and that I don’t rightly know if I’ll ever get back to it! Thanks for checking in y’all, and I’ll see you next year!

    … Nah, you fine folk really do deserve a bit more of an explanation than that after all this time, even if I know it won’t satisfy many of you who initially followed me on the promise of reading novella-length essays about bad video games. As some of you may already know, we’ve since transitioned to doing feature-length streams about bad video games over on Twitch. We put on a show every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday between the hours of 8:00 and 11:00PM (EST); and boy howdy, have I been having so much more fun doing that than I honestly ever did with my writing! For all the times you’ve heard me “joke” about not being a writer, the honest truth is that I am not a writer: I’m a lapsed video editor with media training and the constant urge to be the center of attention. I’m immensely proud of the fact that folk enjoyed my experiments in writing – that I got to feature on podcasts for it, get cited in published books, and write scripts for one of my favorite YouTube channels – but I feel like the project probably already peaked past a certain point, and that there was no real road to making it a tenable thing on its own (in terms of continuing to build an audience / finances).

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    A Stream of Consciousness

    Howdy y’all! The time has come again to apologize for a several months-long lack of updates / new articles here on the Bad Game Hall of Fame website, as seems to happen on an annual basis. So, I’m not gonna sugarcoat the state of things this time around: I’ve been having a hard time with writing as of late, and getting our articles currently in progress to a point where I’m happy with how they’re turning out.

    Believe it or not, I take the quality of our content very seriously, and feel like our run of most recent articles have established a fairly high standard — a standard I am struggling to maintain. And I’m not about to start half-assing them just to get posts out: I wanna rise to the occasion and meet that standard, and not settle for anything less. Seeing as we have something of a dedicated audience at this point, I don’t wanna disappoint y’all by turning in anything less than my best. Believe me when I say that there are still several articles in the works right now, and that I believe they’re gonna make for great reading when they’re ready. So please continue to bear with me, as I commit to bringing you the most overly-long essays on video games no one cares about.

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    CrazyBus

    “Just Move a Colorful Bus From Here to There.”

    Unofficial North American front cover art produced by ‘djshok.’

    It’s April Fool’s Day. You know what that means: It’s time for another one of our annual articles where we write in our standard format about a game that was never meant to be taken seriously! In past years, we’ve covered the likes of inside jokes that went on to be sold as part of retail products, running gags from games magazines brought to life, and cassette programs that were accidentally rendered impossible to play. But this year, we’re doing something a little different: We’re covering a developer’s tech demo that got way out of hand, when the Internet at large got a hold of it. You see, a simple demonstration program the likes of today’s subject would generally be ignored by most folk, outside of maybe a handful of fellow developers. And that was the state of the demo in question for roughly five years following its initial release, where it resided largely unseen — safely tucked away in the obscurity of a homebrew enthusiast forum. But when it ultimately escaped its containment, it broke out in a big way, to the point where it’s actually been printed and sold on proper cartridges (without the original developer’s involvement, as it turns out). How did such a simple little demo posted for a community of roughly a dozen people come to be known by literal millions across the world wide web? Did it accomplish some incredible technical feat that amazed the masses? Maybe its creator is a popular celebrity who folk discovered to have been a one-time game developer? Nah: It’s because it has random numbers implemented in place of properly-composed background music, and the game produces some truly unlistenable tones as a result. Why, if someone was forced to listen to this “soundtrack” for an extended length of time, I bet you they’d wind up going… Bonkers? Kooky? Nutty as a fruitcake? Man, there’s a specific word I’m looking for here, but the cat’s got my tongue at the moment.

    Today, we’ll be attempting to document the history of Tom Maneiro’s CrazyBus: A Sega Genesis ROM developed as an experiment in programming — never intended to make its way outside of a small message board, buried in a deep corner of the net. And yet, here we are talking about it today, as it has become the stuff of bona fide legend. Truth be told, there isn’t much to say about the contents of the gameplay itself: You literally just move a bus left and right across the screen, without anything in the way of destinations to visit or passengers to pick up. (You can honk the horn if you so choose.) But the “gameplay” on offer isn’t what makes CrazyBus such an interesting title in the first place. It’s not the soundtrack either, as far as I’m concerned. No, the fascinating aspect here is how it came to be spread so far and wide across the world wide web, so many years after it was initially released. That’s the bit that’s gonna take the real work in writing up; between the history of the community it was borne from, the state of emulation and homebrew development in the early aughts, and the Internet’s sometimes frightening ability to preserve and proliferate some of the most obscure pieces of software. You’d figure that most of the details of this story would be lost to time — deprecated along with the decades-old websites where the game was first conceived. But nope: We can actually track this saga from beginning to end, with the benefit of the Wayback Machine and timestamps on archived forum posts! And in my humble opinion, it is absolutely an endeavor of archeology worth undertaking, and a piece of history worth chronicling… even if it feels a little perverse digging through twenty year-old forum posts in order to piece it all together.

    Oh, there is one more bit of bookkeeping to get out of the way: In the spirit of motor transport, I’ll be writing the entirety of this article from the inside of a moving vehicle. (Namely, my own car.) It turns out that I have a number of errands to run, so it’s actually pretty handy that I’m able to multitask like this. Ain’t modern technology grand? Though, I’m realizing just now that I’m not exactly gonna be able to keep typing on my laptop and drive at the same time… Wait, I’ve got it! I’ll just rely on a speech-to-text app on my phone, and dictate the article as I’m driving! Testing, testing? One, two, three, testing? Eyup, looks like I’m coming through loud and clear! Haha, this kicks ass. Man, if this actually works out, maybe I’ll start writing all my articles like this? Time’ll tell, I reckon. For now, it’s time to shout “All aboard!”, as we get to covering Venezuela’s premiere 16-bit bus simulator.

    CrazyBus [v2.00r030] for Genesis (Tom Maneiro, 2010) (🔊)

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    Popeye (2021)

    “’Ja Think I’m a Cowboy?”

    Key art for Popeye on Nintendo Switch.

    In my younger years, I used to have to deal with debilitating bouts of insomnia. There were stretches of two or three days at a time where I could not get a good night’s sleep to save the life of me, and I’d spend all of my school days in a daze — entirely unable to tune into my classes, and kept on constant edge by auditory hallucinations. When it came time to “head to bed” back at home, my mother would kick me off my computer at a designated hour (additionally hiding away its power cord to discourage my sneaking back onto it), and send me to lay down for what felt like endless hours of fruitless tossing and turning. In this restlessness – tortured by my inability to peacefully slumber – I sought distractions to keep my mind occupied: Some nights, I’d manage to sneak my Game Boy up into my room, but I could only barely make out the screen with the benefit of a desk lamp pointed directly at it. Other nights, I’d sit and read books under that same light source; but my sleep-addled brain would usually lose focus pretty quickly, and rarely ever finish anything from cover to cover. My greatest escape from my late-night doldrums, then, was a 20″ inch CRT television, with a basic cable package to pair. I’d flip through the channels catching snippets of whatever reruns the stations filled their time slots with, until I’d inevitably settle on the same programming block night after night: Cartoon Network’s line-up of classic animations, dubbed “Late Night Black & White.” You younger readers might not remember a time before Adult Swim, but CN used to use that time slot to air cartoons with vintages dating back to the 1930s and 40s. And as I recall, the block was typically bookended by America’s favorite sailor man — the one and only Popeye. This is all a long-winded way of saying that I have a history with the Spinach-chomping scamp, and a certain affection for his animated adventures by way of Fleischer and Famous Studios. (Though truth be told, I’m really more of a ‘Merrie Melodies’ gal.)

    Of course, Popeye has starred in more than just cartoons: Between his origins as a comic strip character and his side hustles hawking branded spinach and candy cigarettes, the stubborn sailor has made several attempts at breaking into the video game market. Surprisingly, there’s a ton of fascinating history attached to his 1982 debut arcade title, which has since gone on to be regarded as something of a classic. Unfortunately, it’s been mostly downhill from there in the span of the forty years to follow; between the license falling into some shaky hands, the best follow-ups only being Japanese-exclusives, and decade-long periods of total inactivity in the market. It’s not surprising then that Popeye’s latest game (as of the time of this writing) is an attempt to harken back to his arcade glory days — a full 3D re-imagining of his most beloved digital adventure. The problem is, the company responsible for its production is something of a notorious “shovelware” developer: England’s ‘Sabec Limited,’ whose previous console credits comprise titles the likes of Chess, Checkers, and Calculator. Not exactly the sort of back catalogue that inspires confidence. And yet, King Features Syndicates saw fit to bequeath them a crown jewel, in the form of their most iconic license. Did they perhaps spot a potential in Sabec that no one else had? Did the team win them over with their passion for the property? Or is it simply a case of the studio putting in an obscenely low bid on an open call to develop a Popeye game, and proceeding to put an equally low budget towards producing it? Yeah, it’s probably just that last one, if we’re being honest. But I suppose we won’t know for sure until we actually play and review it here, huh?

    Before we get to reviewing Popeye for the Nintendo Switch and PlayStation 4, we’ll provide a brief biography of the character and his rapid ascent to comic stardom. From there, we’ll cover some of his earlier video game hits and misses — by which I of course mean covering every other official Popeye video game ever released. Maybe we’ll even find a couple titles along the way that are arguably lousier than the actual subject of this article? While we’re at it, we’ll also rehash the story of how Nintendo’s Donkey Kong arcade cabinet was very nearly a Popeye title, since that’s a fascinating (if not already well-worn) bit of history in itself. Then, we’ll do our best to document Sabec Ltd.’s transition from developing quiz games for British pubs, to flooding digital marketplaces with some of the most disposable software ever seen. Only then can we fully appreciate their take on Popeye, and determine for ourselves if it’s truly the worst of the sailor’s virtual voyages. And after this article goes up, we’ll have to wait and see if Sabec threatens to sue us into taking it down, as they once attempted to do in the case of a YouTube video criticizing their product! Lucky for me, I have a Whiffle Hen on hand that I can rub for good luck, so I’m sure that everything is gonna turn out alright. So hoist those sails and pop open those spinach cans, folks: It’s high time to take this show out on the high seas.

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    Mazer

    “Earth’s Last Hope of Breaking Semag Rule.”

    “You are equipped with a bio-enhancer which increases your normal abilities.”
    North American front cover.

    To start this article off with something of a confession: I hate mazes. I reckon it just comes down to not having the aptitude for navigation-driven puzzles, as I often find myself completely and hopelessly lost in even the most simply constructed of them. I’m the kind of player who brings up my map every thirty seconds in a video game just to triple-check my bearings, to make absolutely sure that I’m always headed in the right direction — that I haven’t turned myself around without noticing, even in the most streamlined of level designs. Take my precious map away from me, and I’m as lost as a lost cause, doomed to wander in circles eternally. (Or until I decide to give up on the game in question. Whichever comes first.) And don’t even get me started on grid-based labyrinths from the pre-3D era of gaming; where developers attempted to trick players with the illusion of perspective, and dropped them into monochrome dungeons technically incapable of presenting the most basic of signposting or wall variation. Excuse me if I don’t wanna break out the graph paper and stop to draw in the lines every time I press my D-pad, all so that I can realize five minutes later that I forgot to account for a single tile which renders my entire map useless. Maybe to you that sounds like a great way to spend your Saturday afternoon, but it just ain’t for me. So, here we are presented with a 3DO game that literally has the word “maze” in its title, and I’m sat here dreading the absolute worst. And then it turns out, there’s not a single maze to be seen in it: It’s actually just an isometric arcade shooter! Guess I didn’t really need to include that whole diatribe about how lousy I am at solving mazes after all, huh?

    1995’s Mazer on the 3DO represents more than just an example of misinterpretable titling, though: It marks the end of a bona fide gaming dynasty — the moment in which an industry icon made a final attempt at maintaining their relevance, only to fail spectacularly. It is the last title to be developed in-house by the studio American Laser Games, who built their empire on a foundation of LaserDisc-driven arcade shooters. But by the time they realized that their typical format was no longer commercially viable, it was already too late for them to pivot to more traditional genre fare. Mazer stands as the monument to that failure: A critically reviled release on a home console that never proved financially tenable for any of the companies who chose to support it. Factor in scrapped plans / fruitless investments in bringing the title to arcades, and you’ve got the recipe for the company’s eventual bankruptcy. In other words, even if Mazer had turned out to be amazing, it still wouldn’t have done American Laser Games any good. But perhaps that’s the problem here: Maybe Mazer‘s reputation is just too tied up in the downfall of its developer, and folk have been unfairly writing it off ever since? There’s the odd chance we’ve all been overlooking a hidden gem here — associating the title with the sorry state of its creators, and not giving the game its proper consideration. That sounds like a case for the Bad Game Hall of Fame; where we endeavor to judge games on their own merits, and give them a fair shake when no one else will! (Unless they have mazes in them: I’m content to just keep writing those ones off.)

    Of course, we’ll still provide a recap of American Laser Games’ roughly five-year reign as kings of the LaserDisc arcade, so that we can better understand the circumstances that led to Mazer‘s production. That means we get to cover the likes of Mad Dog McCree and Fast Draw Showdown, which I’m excited to finally have an excuse to talk about here. Honestly, I’ll find any reason I can to write about western-themed games on this site; and by golly, did ALG sure love drawing from the dusty well of the Old West. After we get all that out of my system, we’ll move on to properly reviewing Mazer, and decide whether or not it’s truly as wretched as its reputation makes out. From there, we’ll measure the game’s role in the downfall of its developers, and determine if the studio could have otherwise avoided [or at least postponed] their seemingly inevitable collapse. Perhaps there’s an alternate timeline in which American Laser Games continues to produce FMV games into the present day — where LaserDisc still rules supreme over the home video formats, cowboys are still considered the epitome of cool, and the Semag-Resal Empire leaves our pitiful planet alone in their campaign of galactic conquest. But enough for now about wishful thinking and what could’ve been: It’s high time we travel back to the past, and explore the disc-based dead end that is Mazer.

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