Ah, the Neo Geo. Truly a legend of the retro gaming world. Released in 1990 by SNK, one of the major rivals to Capcom and Konami in the crowded arcade market of the late 80s and early 90s, it had two features which made it stand out from the Super Nintendo, Mega Drive and PC Engine.
1 - Technically, on paper at least, it blew its competitors out of the water: a 16/32-bit processor with a 24-bit graphics data bus (I have not the slightest clue what any of this means, but it certainly sounds impressive), and was marketed as basically providing the capacity of an arcade machine in your home, only without the dried-on chewing gum and cigarette welts of a cabinet.
2 - When it came out, both the system itself, at £399, and the games, which averaged £200 a cart, were so prohibitively expensive that they possessed a perceived cache somewhere between bone marrow and rocking horse shit.
All of this meant that, for the majority of us who had neither eccentric billionaire parents, paper rounds consisting of several postcodes, nor access to sixty sets of milk teeth (working at a sensible rate of 50p per gnasher), this wondrous system and its state-of-the-art software were to be gazed at longingly from the pages of Mean Machines or the borderline-erotic experience that was the software aisle at Toys R Us. Neo Geo games weren’t for the likes of us; they were intended for kids who owned actual Nike Air Jordans, not unconvincing knock-offs bought at a Saturday market from a bloke in a shell suit called Darren.
So when SNK finally decided to license some of their franchises, notably Fatal Fury, to third party publishers with the intention of porting them over to “lesser” consoles (i.e. the ones scum like us had a chance of affording without hawking a sibling’s kidney), many of us gave a hearty, plebeian cheer. Not least because it led to the gloriously unhinged bastard that is Sunsoft’s version of tournament beat-‘em-up World Heroes.
The cover for literally every Japanese beat-em-up ever, but with added string vests, apparently.
Combos? Where we're going we won't need combos
World Heroes is what would happen if, instead of purchasing WCW in the early 2000s, Vince McMahon had invested instead in a VHS copy of Bloodsport and a time machine.
It is packed to the preposterous gills with shameless rip-offs, offensive stereotypes and caricatures, and dialogue Nicolas Cage himself would consider unconvincing and risible (before willingly delivering it in a straight-to-video action thriller alongside Mario Van Peebles.)
This becomes almost immediately clear when, having gained motion sickness from the strangely monochromatic but nauseatingly fast-moving opening screen and pressed start, you are met by eccentric scientist Dr Brown, who has developed a time machine. Yes. Dr Brown. There is no specific information on how this time machine works, but presumably it’s parked out the back of the laboratory.
Would you buy a used DeLorean from this, er, man?
Now, in the original Neo Geo version, Brown quite closely resembles a younger, brown-haired poundstore Christopher Lloyd; but whether due to budgetary constraints, issues with the port-over, or perhaps even the effects of what the New York Academy of Sciences refer to as the “third epidemic of methamphetamine abuse of 1995” in Japan impacting Sunsoft’s programmers; well, let’s just say the good doctor appears somewhat in need of medical attention himself. His striking blue eyes from the original have been enlarged and dilated to Roswellian proportions, his flesh sags, flags and bags around his sunken jowls, and his facial features appear painfully contorted into a reverse rictus grin. Disconcertingly, the overall effect is that the doctor is actually Gary Busey, but Gary Busey wearing a skin suit made from Christopher Walken.
Presumably, it must be fairly expensive to accumulate enough plutonium to get the time machine up to 88 miles per hour, so Doc, sorry Dr Brown needs to earn some money, before Libya comes calling. Accordingly, he comes up with the admittedly ingenious scheme of organising a tournament where the best fighters from history compete to determine the undisputed GOAT. There is no real evidence that he has in any way monetised this venture, and of course the linguistic and cultural complications would in all likelihood render such a venture practicably impossible, but if you’re prepared to accept that a grown man can spend most of his time murdering amphibians and go-karting while still maintaining a viable plumbing enterprise, you can suspend your disbelief here.
Having said that, the most perfunctory analysis of the dialogue in the opening cut-scene alone would imply that Brown is two doors short of a DeLorean, so to speak. “You came at a good time,” he begins. How can one come at a good time, when the whole premise of the game is a tournament based upon time travel? Surely the concept of timeliness is somewhat redundant under such circumstances, or am I being pedantic? Still, at least he’s got the concept of marketing such an event down to a tee. “Use the time machine to go all over the world where the strong people are.” Well, you can’t fault the logic. I can’t help thinking that the movie Enter the Dragon would have been that much more believable had they ditched that whole subplot of avenging Lee’s sister, and had him enter the tournament purely due to its proximity to “the strong people.” Jesus. Brown signs off by stating, “I’m praying for a healthy battle.” Well so am I, Gary, so am I. Although, after staring into your cold, dead eyes, I find myself praying more that I never find myself alone in your proximity unless I am heavily armed, ya fucking psycho..
Hanzo, on the left, and Streetfighter II’s Ryu, on the right. As different as chalk and cheese, eh?
Don't Enter the Dragon
Anyhoo, having spent an inordinate amount of time describing an opening scene the duration of which is approximately 12 seconds, maybe now would be an opportune time to delve into the game itself. World Heroes is ostensibly a one-on-one beat-em-up of the Streetfighter / Mortal Kombat variety, and boy does it wear those influences on its pilfering sleeve. This is evident from the first two characters alone, Hanzo and Fuuma, who are such derivative knock-offs of Ryu and Ken it’s a surprise their ending scenes aren’t interrupted by a lawyer from Capcom serving them with a cease and desist order. From the sleeveless karate gi to the moveset, which consists of suspiciously whirlwind-like kick, flaming uppercut and projectile (alright, it’s a shuriken rather than a fireball, but it’s even performed the same way as a hadoken), it’s a wonder they’re not called Kyu and Ben.
The third character, a martial artist from China called Dragon, is basically Liu Kang, but with Honda’s hundred-hand-slap in lieu of anything approaching a decent move. Indeed, his only other special manoeuvre (and this is scraping the barrel with the word ‘special’ here) is ‘a flying kick fuelled by chi energy that takes the shape of a dragon head,’ according to SNK.fandom.com, which has seemingly been designed to flash harmlessly over the head of an enemy, thereby leaving him utterly defenceless against an enemy throw. He is allegedly ‘inspired’ both by Bruce Lee and by Kenshiro from Fist of the North Star, but his ineptitude render him perhaps most reminiscent of Wimp Lo’s ‘face-to-foot style’ from Kung Pow: Enter the Fist.
Needless to say, all three of these characters are utterly pointless to select any of them by preference would be akin to finding out you have twenty four hours to live and spending that time in a garden centre.. Based on this alone, it would be easy to pass off World Heroes as nothing but a poor man’s Streetfighter II, but that would be to do the game a great injustice; it may indeed be a veritable magpie’s nest of infringed trademarks and stolen cultural references, but where it truly comes into its own is the way in which it pulls actual world history into the mix. I say actual world history, but the game’s approach to the past is rather like a drunken uncle recalling past events with the aid of a half bottle of Grants, world-renowned as the drink of choice of the habitual liar.
A number of the game’s fighters are either based upon specific periods in a country’s history, or on particular historical figures of significance. Special mention at this point must go to balding, adenoidal pro wrestler Muscle Power, who, while not truly fitting this image, does succeed in evoking a particular period in history with considerable chutzpah. The designers have made seemingly no efforts to pretend this is anything other than Hulk Hogan in red, white and blue trunks, and while clearly intended as little more than a lazy amalgamation of SFII’s Zangief and Mike Haggar of Final Fight fame, he possesses a range of moves easily equal to either, and evokes happy memories of the 1980s “rock and wrestling” era.
Maintaining the theme of big, beefy boys, for those players who always gravitate towards the resident brick shithouse on the character roster, is Mongolian warrior J. Carn. And what does the J stand for, I hear you ask? If you put your money on Jenghis, shame on you, you cynical old so-and-so, you. And please collect your winnings quietly and with dignity. Yes, SNK literally saw fit to include a Mongolian warlord named Jenghis Carn in their game, and pass him off as an original character. Which begs the question: how bad were the names they rejected? Brad the Impaler? Atilla the Fun? Alexander the Really Quite Good? Whatever the dubious provenance of his creation, Carn’s moveset is largely unremarkable, following the up-down / left-right + button mechanic used by everyone from Johnny Cage to Guile to far greater effect than here. Indeed, the only real reason to play him is a nifty little dive attack, referred to online as the “Flying Buns of Doom,” whereby he leaps up in the air and literally smacks you in the face with his arse. Which is, as I’m sure you agree, truly splendid, and a fitting tribute to the founder of the largest contiguous empire in history.
Hot and spicy Mongolian beef coming right up!
There was a cat who really was gone
Elsewhere the developers have shown even less subtlety; for those of you who grew up fans of the Lancastrian phase of the Hundred Years War, we have 15th Century fencer Janne, who is literally Joan of Arc. Similarly, there is a character who fightersgeneration.com refer to as “loosely based on Grigori Rasputin.” Bearing in mind he looks like Rasputin, hails from Russia just like Rasputin, preaches a message of peace and love just like Rasputin, and perhaps most significantly is named Rasputin, just like Rasputin, it is dubious just how loose this may be. Irrespective of this, both characters are great fun to play: Janne is an armour-clad, proto-feminist badass with a magic sword and a penchant for slapping opponents round the chops from close range, whereas Rasputin’s cartoonish arsenal injects some welcome humour into the game. His low kick resembles a Cossack dance, where the majority of his other moves involve invoking his sneaky Slavic sorcery to conjure up oversized yellow hands and feet with which to brain his opponents. This combined with his “razor spin,” effectively an opponent-scattering pirouette which shows off a particularly shapely pair of thighs, makes him one of the most effective, not to mention enjoyable characters in the game.
In fact, in many other of the numerous identikit versus fighting games of the mid-nineties, Rasputin would be the undisputed fan favourite. But then, none of the numerous identikit versus fighting games of the mid-nineties had Brocken. Now, before I explain the character of Brocken, I would like to point out that Adolph Hitler was an absolute jerk. Some of the things he got up to were prime shit-housery, and if you are a fan of those kind of shenanigans, well you won’t be offered one of the nice biscuits with your coffee at my house, that’s for certain. The reason I mention this is that Brocken, Germany’s entrant to the World Heroes tournament, isn’t really a hero at all, on account of the fact he’s a Nazi. A cyborg Nazi. And he’s fucking awesome. In terms of gameplay, Brocken functions rather like a cross between M. Bison (Western naming) and Dhalsim: his cross-screen dive is almost identical to Bison’s psycho crusher, albeit carried out in a differently-coloured military uniform, whilst many of his base kicks are enhanced by the character’s cybernetic go-go-Gadget arms and legs. In addition to this he has a nifty electrocution move to deter opponents from jumping into him, and he even fires missiles from his wrists. In truth he is probably overpowered to the extent that he unbalances the game, especially when characters such as Dragon seem to have had so little effort put into their development, but that matters not a jot as you are flying through the air, laughing with joy while feeling slightly anxious that merely by enjoying this you are somehow complicit to various atrocities.
If this sort of thing had really happened, we would all have done History at GCSE
Electric Boogaloo
In terms of gameplay, there is nothing truly remarkable on display here. If you’re a fan of the first wave of one-on-one beat-em-ups, and you’re not too bothered about putting together 237-move combos, then this will be comfortably familiar to you. The collision detection can be a little suspect at times, and certain projectile attacks in particular seem to be more effective than others, but otherwise the main play mode is more than serviceable. A nice little addition is the “Fatal Match” mode, a clear attempt to cash in on the blood-and-guts mayhem instigated by the likes of Mortal Kombat and Killer Instinct. Here, the battles take place in either a wrestling ring or a UFC-inspired cage, which has been modified with anything from landmines on the canvas to electrified ropes, and even metal spikes which protrude from the walls. It is somewhat annoying how easy it is to fall foul of these hazards by simply carrying out one of your own moves, but it certainly adds an edge to proceedings, whilst simultaneously allowing you to throw a grown man in a dress into flaming barbed wire, without any of the usual repercussions associated with such a predilection.
I won’t dwell too much on the final boss, Gee Gus, a cyborg with more than a passing resemblance to the T1000, who can morph into any of your fellow competitors at will, only looking like they’re covered in tinfoil. He is thoroughly unnecessary, a poor man’s Shang Tsung if you will, and serves only to highlight both the game’s biggest strength and its main weakness. If you’re going to steal, steal big. Shinobi shamelessly pinched Spiderman, Batman and Rambo and nobody batted an eyelid, because the thefts were so brazen, so out-of-place, so audacious as to be seen as strokes of genius. World Heroes manages this too, in fits and starts, but for every “Fuck me! That’s Dhalsim but he’s a robot Nazi, and he’s just literally thrown a 15th Century French saint onto a landmine!” moment, there’s also a, “Oh, so they’ve just wholescale ripped off Ken, but made him ginger. As if he wasn’t marginalised enough already,” moment.
Still, I think the 19th Century mystic Grigori Rasputin said it best, when he asserted, “You lack maturity son. Nyah! Nyah!” What’s that? Rasputin never said such a thing? Well he does in World Heroes. Nyah. Nyah.
Like what you read? Want to randomly reply to a post with an anonymous photo of your cock & balls? In either case follow the blue bird to get notified of new articles by Filbert and Sebastien and to read other nonsense!
Kommentare