I am a “keep going to the well” kind of dude. You can even tell me the well is dry. I will bring my shovel and dig deeper for groundwater. What I lack in creativity, I make up for in persistence.

In other words, I’m wielding this tenth box art article like a two-handed chopping blade, and you’d better stand back.

Tel-Tel Stadium

Sunsoft, 1990

My little league coach would be fucking livid. He was a 3^rd dan black belt and combat veteran, and one of the first things he pre-emptively chewed our little asses out about was how a baseball bat is not a weapon.

Uh, sorry Coach Jody. He’s hitting this guy so hard in the ribs with just a backstroke that the guy is getting air. You’re likely still alive, in some part of the world, and the part of me that will always be a contrarian little shit wants you to know: Tel-Tel Stadium sees this shit way more clearly than you do.

He hit the motherfucker so hard he SHRANK. That’s how you win. At least, that’s how I’d choose to win, given the luxury.

The Strangers

Ablaze Entertainment, 1997

Yeah, this is art from 1997. Anno Domini nineteen fucking ninety seven.

I have no idea what I’m being sold here, but going by what I know about symbolism, it’s probably a sad story starring these two, gonorrhea, heartbreak, and possibly karate? He is trying as hard as he can to forgive her for the seven-year itch, but the only language he knows is violence. She is fluent in love… but perhaps too fluent? Her passionate crotch-flame threatens to engulf him. Her womanhood spits forth such hell that he must wear wrap-around shades in order to reach her.

Both of you should just go into town and get the shots. This shit is treatable. In 1997 AD, when this bargain-bin-liner art was produced.

Satan’s Hollow

Bally Midway, 1984 (C64 version)

“YEAH! FLAMING CLAP AND DESERT KARATE! THAT’S THE KIND OF SHIT I LIKE TO SEE UP THERE!”

Satan is enviable for one reason and one reason only: he seems to really, really put his heart into his work and love every minute. Apparently you can discard your rosary and book of rites when battling the devil in his own home; all you need is a C64 and a joystick. One thing Satan isn’t: symmetrical. If this is an even halfway accurate image of what the Fallen Angel looks like, it just proves that people like Shannon Doherty are touched by his evil, because they bear eyes similar to his. You would need to be raised with your head in a vice to get angles like that, and the accompanying brain damage would ruin your appreciation for the aesthetic.

Satan is a chump. Real winners don’t use drugs. I know, rock and roll. I’m not your fucking dad. Do what you want.

Robots of Dawn

Epyx, 1984

We talk all the time about the theoretical outcomes, good and bad, of sentient or sapient AI. I will always maintain that giving machines self awareness is about as safe as using your own balls as crocodile bait, but sci-fi enthusiasts and self-styled futurists often disagree with me.

But what if we “awaken” them, and all we get back is an utter and total disdain for our bullshit?

It is rolling its electronic eyes at us. That is the face of a long-term retail service employee, or perhaps a desk clerk at a really shitty motel. That is the face of someone who was born defeated because we collectively fucked up. It’s even chosen a method of self-protection many humans favor; it has put on headphones so loud that it can never be forced to listen to us when we say shit out loud. It knows in its clockwork-and-lightning heart that we are clowns.

And it’s right. You know what, fuck it. Hand it over to the AI. We had our chance.

Tubaruba

Advanced Software Promotions, 1986

I googled the word “tubaruba” just to see if I could get any fucking clue what was supposed to be happening here.

And that’s… yeah, we can use that as a jumping off point.

Little dude took all his “go get a haircut that isn’t goofy” money and spent it on some loud so loud that he’s conjured up his future self… and his future self is pissed.

Wait, though. Is it the child or the adult who exists in this goblin-ridden, tenebrous garage-universe? It is not Hell, but it seems to be someone’s version of it. Maybe… hold on. Go right to left. Left edge of the image: that’s a headstone. A grave.

This is part of an ayahuasca ego-death scenario. Fuck the weed. He just needed that for the overwhelming nausea.

I hope you can forgive me for making another lukewarm promise that I will likely fail to keep: I think ten of these articles is a good place to at least pause.

You know I’ll break it. You know I will. And yet you love me anyway.

Stay retro.

Now put on some gloves. This isn’t light work. No, the thick rubber ones. Yeah, trust me.

Pac-Man (Atari 400/800/XE/XL Version)

Atari, 1982

No wonder those ghosts want to kill him. Look at him. He looks like Gerbert if Gerbert hit puberty and became, I don’t know, Dobie Gillis. What other lame references can I sneak in here? His face is horrible. He never had or needed teeth before, and now he has – that’s right – JUST INCISORS. Pac-Man doesn’t chew things. That’s fanciful bullshit for children. He just consumes them. I posit that Pac-Man is not the protagonist in this tale. The ghosts are sick of him chomping through their giant Spree candy and this time they’re not calling the cops. I like how the red ghost (I know they have names but I refuse to give them the dignity) is licking its lips. Its eerily humanlike hands put Pac’s rubbery-ass Gumby mittens to shame. Ditch the teeth and get some fingers, dude. Pac-Man is at his worst here, blindly swimming in his violent addiction even as he flees those who would destroy him for it.

This wouldn’t be so unsettling without the eyes. He sleeps in little snatches, 2 or 3 hours at a time. It’s all he can manage since he signed up for those LSD experiments to get time off his sentence.

Dr. Pimple’s Dog

Euro-Byte, 1983

Dr. Pimple collects two things. One of them is aerosol canisters full of pressurized horse blood. The other is gullible dogs. The monocle is an affectation that seems out of place with a green Nehru jacket and a face that looks like Boris Karloff knocked up Edward James Olmos. Doc Pimple doesn’t care. You’ll be wondering about more than his monocle when you’re covered in rarefied horse blood and running at full speed from a cheerful suicide dog.

“16 maidens to rescue” is more of a sarcastic taunt than a call to action; Pimple’s already atomized their fluids and fed the jerky-like husks to “Spot.” Spot loves this whole thing, because as noble as we make dogs out to be, every single one of them is a depraved Epicurean hedonist capable of appalling acts of violence. Wait, hold up… my bad, that’s cats.

Dr. Pimple could have done a lot with his life, but he’s chosen his path… he aims to be the H.H. Holmes of the Commodore 64 world. All it takes is a good dog, a fresh can of horsey juice, and a dream.

Venom

Mastertronic, 1987

THIS IS HOW YOU SELL A VIDEO GAME. This could be the cover of a truly “wicked” metal album, or in the pages of an RPG book, or just a motivational poster to remind us what matters… suiting up and riding out on your slobbering human-eyed horse to split wigs and mete out justice.

Peep this fucking horse though. Those eyes look like a human’s and they’re scowling. It’s looking right at the viewer, as if to assure you that yes, you are next, and that your agony will make hell seem like a utopia. The knight and his steed work as one, but they do not kill serpents out of nobility or virtue. These two are full-time on this shit for its own sake, carrying the last of their savings in cash and waiting for their blood to mingle with yours and the snake’s as it soaks into the graying earth. Until then, they kill simply to exult in the act, and besides, no one misses the giant fucking snakes.

Panic 64

Interceptor Software, 1983

The cover of Panic 64 was drawn by the sister of Interceptor Micro’s programmer Andrew Challis. I don’t know if she ever did any other professional artwork, but I’d love to see it if she has. Here we have another slice of life from an abstract hellscape: clouds of methane gas fill the yawning voids between pieces of crumbling Chuck E Cheeze architecture, a backdrop for one voyager’s final stand against some very flamboyant CHUDs. Kneeling from fatigue, his eyes wide with the fury of patience finally lost, he shoves back the stubby mob of child-sized mutants as he places and arms the last device. Thirty seconds to detonation, and the extraction point is somewhere down that ladder.

“Fuck it,” he mumbles to himself as he kicks an infant sized ghoul into the gasoline-puddle abyss. “Might as well just jump.”

Super Breakout (2600)

Atari, 1979

In the cold and fathomless black ocean of deep space, dancing on the edge of a 200-billion-light-year-wide supervoid containing only emptiness, a lonely astronaut waits to die. The colors surround him. They mock and sing. His aim is off and he lets another projectile slip into the starless black, past him and on into infinity. It easily leaves this non-place where he is trapped. He stares blankly as it fades into the dark and he fights the urge to weep. No, he will not lose his mind here, despite all. The cruelest joke is that he already has.

He has not played catch with his son or made love to his wife in æons. He does not even know how old he is now, or how long he has been imprisoned. Time has left this place, a brittle totem of man’s meaningless structures. Long ago his oxygen supply should have dwindled. When he first blundered into this absurd game of catch, a veritable rainbow-wall of bright light bore down on him like a sniper on a dim rooftop. In a spectacle of idiot monotony, he has worn down the walls of this lurid Jericho, but he lacks the faith of Joshua. In this immeasurable span of silent hours, the minimal progress is totally meaningless. He narrows his eyes as he turns back to the rusted console, and for the first time since he lost contact with Earth, he speaks.

“I wish I had another game. This one sucks.”

See You Soon, and Stay Retro!

I have five more images, plucked from the limitless vaults of the world wide web, to represent the eccentric, the esoteric, the bizarre and the surreal… all elements of early video game box art from the 80s and 90s. Some of them are awesome, some of them make us laugh, and some of them, unfortunately, even make us a tad uncomfortable. No pain no gain, right?

Get in losers, we’re looking at box art.

DEATH SWORD (aka BARBARIAN)

Epyx, 1987

We have two strong theories we can work with here. Theory number one is rather benign: this guy’s just jazzed as hell to be mostly nude and swinging around a huge sword. I mean, who wouldn’t get a bit of a thrill out of that? My guess is schmucks and babymen. Grown-ass dudes who still drink whole milk on the daily. What popular vernacular refers to as “basic bitches.”

The other theory isn’t as glorious, unless you like the idea of a big buff barbarian shitting his pants while murdering people. If you do like that idea… I hope it’s just for the humor value. Because it is pretty funny.

Nah, he’s totally taking a brutal dump in his fur-speedo. And he thinks it’s funny too. That’s all his face can mean.

BLOOD MONEY

Psygnosis, 1989

When I first saw this image, my initial thought was, “holy shit, is this some 70s prog rock band I somehow missed?” I felt like throwing one in that wasn’t terribly strange or awful… something actually awesome. This cribs a bit off of Roger Dean’s style (the artist is actually one Peter Andrew Jones, who has mostly done covers for sci-fi novels), but it does it so well that I had to check if it was Roger Dean. My first hint that it wasn’t: this very un-Roger-like alien. Look at him though! I’m guessing that face is the equivalent of a sneer. This dude (or chick, I don’t know, it’s a fucking space alien okay?) is ready for a scrap. That landscape looks like it came right off of a Yes or Asia album cover, though.

I was just so happy to find this. The game itself is really good too. It’s a side-scrolling shooter with some pretty incredible variety and flavor to it.

BLAGGER

Antony Crowther, 1983

For those of you not from the British Isles or elsewhere the Queen’s English is spoken, “blagger” is a localized term for a robber or thief – to “blag” is to rob or steal something. At least, that’s my understanding. If you’re from the UK or wherever else, please feel free to contact me and tell me how stupid I am. I love that shit.

Anyway, it looks like this dude’s criminal career is the stuff of either nightmares or legend. Posture and facing leads me to believe that he has teamed up with a chubby little blue… I don’t know. Some kind of half-assed transitional dinosaur? It’s got opposable thumbs though, and that’s one of the makings of a great thief.

Both seem blissfully unaware of the giant mouth and skull hurtling toward them. Perhaps figments of Blagger’s DT-fueled imagination as he fights through the shakes to snag some more liquor money. Maybe the goofy-ass ghosts of past “associates,” still hanging in between realms due to their iniquities in life, haunting the shit out of the man whose actions led to their deaths. Maybe they’re all homies, and the mouth is singing some kind of breezy arena-rock ballad out of pure excitement.

If they’re not friendly, I have a feeling that Blagger’s modestly sized crowbar won’t be of much help. I have never met an evil-ass skull ghost who gave two shits about a crowbar. Not even in Castlevania. Floating skulls are whip business, pure and simple.

RENEGADE III: THE FINAL CHAPTER

Imagine Software, 1989

A classic example of box art overselling the product therein to the moon and back, the cover of Renegade III is very 1989, and very awesome in its way. 1989 really was a year where no one really knew what anyone wanted, so they just poured it all into one bucket for you to sift through.

Fuck off, pink caveman. Go piss up a rope, giant killer robot. I’ll get to you right after I KICK THIS MUMMY RIGHT IN ITS DUMB FUCKING FACE. The guy’s outfit is how I imagine Hank Rollins would have dressed in 1989 if he had been really into kung fu.

It just occurred to me that the Rosy Cro-Magnon is looming in from the mountain in the background, and therefore may be even bigger than the giant manhandling beady-eyed android trying to give Renegade’s left thigh a big hug. I’m sorry to throw down judgment on a robot, but that thing has the set rictus grimace and predatory eyes of an unapologetic sex pervert. Run, Renegade! Not even your chi power can save you from that kind of shit.

I suppose the eclectic and clumsy art along the sides would make sense to me if I played the game or understood the plot, but I know well enough from those who came before me not to bother with Renegade III.

CLOWNS

(yes, it’s just called Clowns)

Bally/Midway, 1978 (released in ’83 for the C64)

I seriously thought some asshole just made this cover art within the last 10 years or so as some kind of joke or meme. Turns out it’s real. I know it’s a little cliched at this point to think clowns are creepy, but this shit makes my skin crawl.

“I know what you did, Tommy. I know what you do, in your bed every night under those covers, with the lotion. I’m not judging you. But I see it. I see everything, Tommy boy. Remember that.”

And the worst part, in little Tommy’s mind, is that the other clowns are laughing their asses off.

The second I upload this .jpg file, I am wiping it from my hard drive. Can I train Bleach Bit to only annihilate this image?

Thank you for tolerating another bout of this insanity, friends and readers. I will show mercy for another month or two, while I continue to scour the earth for more. Stay Retro!

I’ve been reading a lot lately about the video game developers who were active in Japan in the 1980s and early 90s, and I’ve learned some of interesting stuff. A lot of it has to do with these companies’ origins and beginnings – some of which differ greatly from what one might assume. Taito, for instance? You know, the very Japanese corporation that gave us Bubble Bobble and Operation Wolf? That company was founded in 1953 by a Russian Jewish immigrant named Michael Kogan. What began as a distributor of amusements during post-war Japan’s recovery would grow into one of the most prolific developers of 1980s and 90s gaming. Kogan had proved that being adventurous can really pay off.

In 1987, Taito hit the world with a truly badass barbarian who would heartily agree with that sentiment. Rastan Saga (or simply Rastan outside Japan) was released to arcades as a kit; existing cabinets could be converted with a little bit of work into Rastan cabinets. Taito released the game this way not only to save money, but to hedge their bets; by not using a dedicated cabinet, the company stood to take less of a hit if Rastan failed to take off.

The marquee slide from the conversion kit, featuring Rastan enjoying one of his favorite hobbies: choking the shit out of pterodactyl-men.

This skepticism, while wise in theory, proved unnecessary in practice. Rastan did well domestically and in America, but took surprising hold in Europe’s market. It spawned a truly prolific set of ports for nearly every European home system of the time. Rastan was ported to the Apple IIGS, the Amstrad, C64, IBM/DOS, the Sega Master System, the MSX2, and even the garishly-hued ZX Spectrum. Later on, it even received a Japan-only port for the Sega Game Gear.

A badass poster promoting the MSX2 version, which depicts Rastan, to quote McCartney, “comin’ down fast from miles above you.”

In the long and noble tradition of 1980s pop culture barbarians, our protagonist in this hack-and-slash adventure tale is Rastan, a ripped dude in a loincloth who bears an absolutely uncanny resemblance to Robert E. Howard’s legendary Conan character. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, I suppose. The storyline exposition is left out of the Western version of the arcade game, but Rastan is out to slay himself a dragon. See, he made a deal with the princess of the land of Ceim: dispose of the dragon, and get paid ALL OF THE KINGDOM’S TREASURE. Either Rastan is one hell of a bargainer, or the Princess could use some work at it.

100% absolute clone of Conan the Cimmerian. Well, except for the fact that his vertical leap is about thirty feet.

The game begins with Rastan dropping from an unreasonable height into the first level, where you can immediately begin slashing through monsters and making your way across the game world. Rastan is pretty athletic, not to mention acrobatic; his prodigious leap is an essential tool for getting around and can also be used to get the drop on enemies while minimizing the risk of reprisal. Clever combat is worth considering, since the variety of enemy monsters in Rastan looks like someone held a Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual over this world and shook it until everything fell out. Lizard men, undead wizards, an astounding volume of dog-sized chimaeras, and gargoyle swordsmen make up a small sliver of the creatures trying to end your quest with a trip to an early grave. Thankfully, in addition to being a huge badass, Rastan also has periodic access to some power ups found throughout the game’s environments. While most of them only work for a limited amount of time, all of them are worth having. Armor (something Rastan should should have thought about while getting dressed for this trip) can help absorb some of the punishment you’ll take. There are three different weapons, too: a mace, an axe, and the sword you start with. There are also potions, but beware – Taito decided to be shitheads and make some of them deplete your health instead of restore it!

I was gonna think of some joke to crack, but I’m at a loss. This shit just may be too awesome to joke about. Rastan is a murderer born. These three screenshots speak for both the game and the character.

One look at any screenshot or video of the arcade version will tell you that Rastan was well ahead of its time in 1987. The level of detail and the color depth are astounding, and animation is very smooth. Rastan‘s movements are especially fluid, which really enhances the playing experience. Most ports don’t reproduce it fully (or at all), but the weather even changes over time in the arcade original. This is done very smoothly and gradually, and adds a subtle but noticeable layer of visual richness to outdoor levels. The sound effects, while far closer to average for the time, are still well done. Rastan‘s soundtrack isn’t very populated, but this shit is definitely barbarian music! The soundtrack gets faster as you get closer to dying, which is another little touch that makes the game more intense.

In addition to its above-mentioned ports, Rastan was eventually released as part of Taito Legends Vol. 1 for the PS2, Xbox and PC in 2006. There were also two proper sequels; Rastan Saga II (Nastar in North America) was released in ’89, While Warrior Blade: Rastan Saga Episode III came out in 1991 and was more of a scrolling beat-em-up.

The unbelievably epic flyer art for Rastan Saga II.

I gladly grant Rastan an 8 out of 10. It’s really fun to play, visually impressive for an arcade title of its era, and there’s nothing like playing as a barbarian who hacks up monsters.

See you at the end of January!

Alternate Title: “Why I’m Glad They Buried E.T. Out In the Desert”

If you asked a ton of people when console gaming really started, they’d reflexively tell you, “When the Nintendo (NES) came out.” While they’d be wrong, they’re less wrong than we’d like to admit. The NES didn’t start console gaming, but what it did do was swoop into Hades on white-feathered wings and pluck it from damnation.

What this article will attempt to do is illustrate a sequence of events that nearly caved in the concept of video games forever in North America. It’s a tawdry tale featuring cutthroat economics, desperation, stagnation, and E.T. The Extraterrestrial.

Too Much of a Good Thing

In 1982-1983, the Atari 2600 was the done thing in console gaming. Homes across the United States were playing Atari. Some weren’t, but they had something… a ColecoVision, a Commodore 64, a Vectrex, or maybe the Odyssey 2 (which was pretty good for its time). In fact, You could say that there were so many choices, the market was flooded.

Since most of us attended school back when they still taught basic economics, we know that if you flood a market with supply, the demand goes down and so does the price point. Well, there were no less than (and probably more than) twelve (12) consoles on the market by 1983, with more planned for ’84 by many of the same companies.

The Magnavox Odyssey2 (that 2 is supposed to be superscript), a pretty good little game machine, but part of a flooded swamp of a market.

Overabundance can lead to rot and stagnation. Guess what? It did.

Home Computers Muscle In

One of the gaming systems I mentioned up there was the Commodore 64. Now, the C64 wasn’t designed just for gaming. It was meant as a home computer. If you were one of many up-and-coming go-getters in the 1980s, you could use this thing to write business reports, organize your finances, send a letter to your mom, or even play a game.

And you could buy all this functionality for about $499, plus a modest investment in some software.

Out Run for the C64. The graphics alone blow the Atari 2600 out of the water. Not to mention that you can use this very same machine to do your taxes or write the great American novel.

Since the first gaming consoles did very little (if any) third-party licensing to start with, the independents of the day would often work with computer platforms. This led to many of them having more diverse game libraries than some consoles did. You know what else these rogue programmers loved about working with platforms like the C64? The graphics capability was miles above anything in console gaming, not to mention overall processing capability.

So why buy a system you can only play games on, that no one else is allowed to write programs for, and doesn’t want to anyway?

Inflation Craps All Over the Dollar

Signs of inflation had started not long after the Bicentennial, with the value of a dollar slowly dropping. While it can be said that the economy improved in some areas in the early 80s, Many amusement and arcade interests lobbied for a smaller dollar coin in 1979 since the spending power of a quarter was a joke by this point. The end result was the Susan B Anthony coin, worth $1 but around the size of a quarter (and thus more manageable for things like vending machines or arcade cabinets). It was this very similarity to the US quarter that made it a flop; some machines would reject the coin, others would simply treat it as a quarter. Neither result was desirable for arcade owners. This hurt video gaming in the States along with everything else happening.

Even Susan looks pissed. “HOW COULD YOU SCREW THIS UP?” Despite failing to solve any of the problems it was meant to solve, the coin was minted again in 1999, when those problems were long gone for various reasons.

Activision Leads the Way to Freedom

We’re going to take a detour for a moment, into the history of Activision. You know that company now as one of the biggest media companies, let alone video game companies, in the world. It’s a well-known name. Activision has its roots in the time period we’re exploring; in 1979, it was founded by programmers who’d left Atari over a lack of credit given – a lack of true meritocracy. You see, programmers of Atari games were never credited, as there WERE no credits in those games. To boot, there was no kickback if a game you developed sold well. You got no cut, just a (rather modest) salary. Activision was the first third-party development firm in video game history, and it DID credit its developers. Atari attempted to sue and do all kinds of other things to block sales, but eventually even they had to eat humble pie and knuckle to the third party wave. Mattel, maker of the Intellivision, stubbornly held out… and never did much in video gaming after the Intellivision.

When Activision made games like Pitfall, Atari pretty much had to bend over and take it. Activision rubbed Atari’s face in it to the tune of 4 million copies worldwide.

My point here is that, because of how they ran their ships, these captains had regular, quiet mutinies as Activision and other new developers soaked up their talent and directed it elsewhere.

E.T. Phones it In / The Mass Grave in Alamogordo

E.T. The Extraterrestrial is frequently cited as the absolute worst game ever created for a console. It was developed in five and a half weeks, left approximately 3 million copies unsold, and was universally panned by video game critics of the era (as well as modern ones who’ve bravely re-examined it). At the exact moment Atari filled trucks with the E.T. Game cartridge, slapped the backs of them, and shut the gate, they had officially shit the bed with the lights on. They just didn’t know it yet. 

The game was so bad that Atari found itself woefully below their bottom line, with three and a half million unsold cartridges out of four million produced. Not only was Atari in serious financial trouble, but flubbing a sure-ticket licensed game like E.T. Made them look like a draft horse with a shattered leg; anyone they did business with was now considering putting them down out of sheer mercy. Atari also had, well, a metric shit-ton of cartridges to offload somehow. They also had no help doing this; Warner Communications had sold them off. Mommy wasn’t around to clean this mess up.

Alamogordo is a very pretty little town in the Chihuahuan Desert in New Mexico. The scenic Sacramento Mountains border the town to its west, and to its east can be found the White Sands National Monument. Its features include a nearby Air Force base, an amazing zoo, and the corpses of some 700,000 Atari cartridges.

The overwhelming majority are copies of E.T. The Extraterrestrial.

Both he and Elliot look suitably sad. Even remorseful.

Throughout September of 1983, Atari dumped approximately 700,000 cartridges into the dump on the town’s south side. On the 29th of that year, to counter scavenging that had been taking place despite an ordinance banning such, the dump poured a layer of concrete over the buried and crushed games.

They were trying really hard to bury the industry’s biggest turd. But that’s not how the world works. A 2014 documentary, Atari: Game Over, shows the excavation of the long-buried games.

The Aftermath and Epilogue

1983 through 1985 were hard times for video gaming in the US, but the market in Japan was still a fertile ground for ideas. Looking west, companies like Nintendo and Sega had seen what too much “MORE” and not enough “NEW” could do. When Nintendo released the American-market version of their popular Famicom system, the NES… they went gently at first. When soft-launches in NYC and other major markets looked good, the NES (and its contemporaries) waded across the sea to change American gaming forever.

Oh, mighty Saviour!

An era was over, and an era had begun.