“Hey! It’s Bubbles!”
EDITOR’S NOTE: Howdy there, Cassidy here! Today’s article comes to us courtesy of a guest contributor, Defenestration! With her having offered to help pen this article for us, I was happy to accept said offer, and put up coverage on the website for a game I might well not have gotten around to otherwise. Spyro’s inaugural sixth-gen excursion is certainly a troubled piece of work, and I’m glad to have had the help in figuring out the factors that made it so.
In addition to contributing some of my own insights to this article: It also fell on me to provide all the accompanying gameplay clips, which I was able to compile after streaming my own playthrough of the game live on our Twitch channel. You can watch the three-part archive of said playthrough on our YouTube channel, if you happen to be interested in hearing my further personal thoughts on this particular 3D platformer: [Ep. 1 | Ep. 2 | Ep. 3]
“I heard a Riptoc talking about sausages!”
Spyro: Enter the Dragonfly
North American GameCube cover.
Let’s travel back to 1998: We stand on the verge of a new era, with all the change and advances the passage of time brings. In the world of video games, the ‘90s fad for introducing cartoonish mascot platformers was well upon us; with a trail of failed endeavors and characters having missed their marks, all for one reason or another. Where onlooker developers had seen the success of Sonic the Hedgehog in ‘93 and Crash Bandicoot in ‘96, they wanted desperately to have a piece of that pie — even if only just the crumbs. Furthermore, with the advent of 3D games, there was an added pressure to always be chasing the latest tech and genre trends. So was the state of the industry that inspired the likes of Spyro the Dragon; developed by relative newcomer Insomniac Games, and published by Universal Interactive. And where other mascot platformers flopped, Spyro would soar to reach his most popular contemporaries.
The original Spyro trilogy on Sony’s PlayStation was something of a technical marvel: On hardware where most games were subject to seemingly arbitrary render distance – past which things simply weren’t there – Spyro’s world presented technical trickery allowing players to peer deep into that distance — using a tool known as ‘Level of Detail’ to great effect. Aside from inspired design and programming, Spyro was simply an appealing character, who toured fantastical locations and jaw jacked with a whole cast of anthropomorphic pals — all set to solid soundtrack courtesy of former Police drummer Stewart Copeland, and featuring talented voice actors the likes of which included Carlos Alazraqui and Tom Kenny (two actors who would take to portraying Spyro). All three titles in this original trilogy would ultimately be labelled as ‘Greatest Hits,’ denoting their status as top-selling software. Surely, Spyro could only continue on his ascent toward video game stardom.
The year is now 2002. The new millennium is finally upon us, and brings with it a new generation of console hardware. Publisher Universal plans to carry their profitable purple dragon’s momentum with a new mainline installment intended for the leading platforms — boasting bigger worlds, more seamless models, and new powers for the daring young dragon. Enter Spyro: Enter the Dragonfly. And on the day of its eagerly awaited release, players could only be left largely aghast by the downgrades on display: Presented with sparsely-populated and over-large levels, wildly fluctuating framerate, and a litany of bugs so severe that you might inadvertently meet the game’s final boss – the only boss, at that – within a minute of starting a new save file. With Spyro’s wings having been so suddenly and noticeably clipped between installments, critics and consumers were left asking “What the hell happened?”
Short answer? The game was unreasonably rushed to pass, with a significant amount of planned content and much-needed polish left undone and / or scrapped entirely. The long answer, though, requires that we go back to those earlier games, and trace the flight path that brought us to this disastrous crash. The tale told will be a cautionary one, and contend as to why torturous publisher interference is generally poor practice. But readers be warned: “We enter the dragonfly alone, we leave the dragonfly alone.” Ancient dragon proverb, probably.