Let me tell you something, friends: There are times when video-game history can prove itself to be an untangleable web. That's how it feels whenever I'm forced to consider a particularly complex set of subjects and chronicles; no matter how many times I read about or refamiliarize myself with them, I find that I'm invariably left in a state of bewilderment.
Take the Wonder Boy-Adventure Island licensing arrangement, for example: If I were to pore through a hundred retrospectives on the topic, I'd still struggle to grasp how all of the pieces fit together. Try to explain to me the intricately plotted narrative of how several warring entities battled in secret to gain publishing rights for Tetris and see if I can remember any of it in a week. The story behind the Crazy Castle series' frequent protagonist-swapping? Utterly baffling. For whatever reason, my brain simply doesn't want to process or retain the information.
So it shouldn't surprise you, then, when I say that I've long struggled to comprehend the post-5200 history of Atari, the unraveling of which is a task akin to deciphering string theory. If only now I'm coming to have a glimmer of understanding for how the company shapeshifted over the years, then you can imagine how much of an unsolvable riddle it was for the 20-something version of me, who had enough trouble trying to properly insert a game CD into a PlayStation. From what I could tell, there were apparently two Ataris, one of which absorbed the other before merging with JTS Inc., whose assets were then acquired by Hasbro, which turned around and sold them to Infogrames, which was currently the asset-holder for a third Atari (or the first one, maybe), which through a series of purchases united all such entities into a single Atari brand, whose name in following was minimized before it was suddenly revived in 2001, at which point it was again splintered into two separate companies, one of which was acquired by Namco-Bandai while the other was rebranded Atari SA, the owners of which established two additional Ataris, and then... I don't know, man. I get a headache just thinking about it.
All I knew for certain was that the Atari of my youth--the one whose products had shaped my interests and provided me so many great memories--was gone forever, the creator of that woodgrain-lined wonder-box having long since spiraled into oblivion. Really, I didn't care to read any deeper into the subject. It was too painful (on both the heart and the brain). I mean, it was interesting to discover that the company had found considerable success in the home-computer market during the 1980s, yes, but such information just didn't hold any special meaning for me; it all seemed so foreign, as if this corporately subsumed version of Atari lacked any true connection to the free-spirited group that produced the console with which I grew up. To me, the two entities were related in name only. So I thought it better to turn the page--leave the past behind and remember Atari as it was.
And that was it. For the longest time, I didn't care to read about or sample Atari's post-5200 machines. The only time I'd look upon the company's name with any amount of curiosity was when it would pop up during a Gamefaqs search. And even then, my interest was fleeting. "What's an 'Atari 8-bit'?" I'd momentarily wonder before quickly turning my attention to a more-relevant link.
Once inseparable, Atari and I had become two ships passing in the night, our paths almost never crossing.
But that was then and this is now. Believe me when I say that the willfully ignorant 20-something version of me is an ancient memory. The person who stands before you today is an impassioned enthusiast, and in this new era, no platform is off my radar. I'm going to discover it all.
And since I've recently been on an old-school computer kick, it seems like the perfect time to begin earnestly delving into Atari's computer history--to finally come back to the home team.
I've chosen to start with the Atari ST, with which I was largely unfamiliar until early February. Until then, about all I'd gathered was that the ST was a direct competitor to the Commodore Amiga and featured a similar mouse-controlled interface. Otherwise, I knew very little about the system's hardware capabilities or game library. So I decided to do what was normal under these circumstances: Play those that were said to be the system's best games or those that diehard ST fans swore were its enduring classics. And from that group, I plucked out a game that seemed right down my alley: 1989's Rick Dangerous, a side-scrolling action-platformer. It was released for several computer systems, yes, but I've been told by people who were immersed in the scene that it's most strongly associated with the Atari ST.
So for the past week, I've been playing Rick Dangerous, which I can best describe as the progenitor of hardcore platformers like I Wanna Be the Guy, Super Meat Boy, 1001 Spikes, and the recently released Celeste, all of which occupy a genre that can be more accurately termed "spike-fueled nightmare simulator." Yet the ol' granpappy Rick Dangerous represents more than just a template; oh, no--this bad boy can honestly claim to trump just about all of them in terms of the horror it unleashes. I'll explain how as we go.
Rick Dangerous is historically based, its events playing out in the year 1945. Gauging both the art direction and subject-matter, it's obvious that the game takes plenty of influence from the Indiana Jones movies, whose stories and characters inform the creation of Rick's world. Coincidentally, Rick Dangerous was developed by Core Design Ltd., the company behind the Tomb Raider series. So we can see that the group has great fondness for the 1940s post-war period as depicted in Spielberg and Lucas' serial-inspired classics. And here we have its first expression of that endearment.
Our hero is the titular Rick Dangerous, to whom the manual (scans) refers as an "intrepid Super Hero and part-time stamp collector." And that single description tells you all you need to know about the game's style and form. Once we look beyond the box art's realistically drawn, seriously toned (and dangerously close to plagiaristic) imagery, we find a game that's eager to quickly abandon any and all pretense of seriousness. Its visual and comic stylings, in both the game and the documentation, give rise to the type of madcap, satirical humor you see in many of the era's adventure series (Maniac Mansion, Leisure Suit Larry, Monkey Island, etc.) and Apogee's platformers.
All of the characters are portrayed as dwarven and stubby with exaggerated facial features. Rick, himself, is drawn as a pint-sized, superdeformed Indiana Jones, his toothy sideward smile always on display.
This world is pure Looney Tunes, basically.
There's no all-encompassing narrative here. Rather, Rick, our typical fearless adventurer, takes on one self-contained mission after another; while normally he seeks treasure wherever his whims carry him, he's also known to take on missions for third parties. Whatever the case, we'll be traveling around the world and braving our way through some of its most dangerous settings. If we hope to avoid certain death, we'll have to call upon our adventurer's wit and the instincts that have guided us through some of history's most questionably designed video games.
And the Atari ST does well to render it all. It's yet another graphically impressive computer system. It boasts a rich resolution, and its colors really pop. Rick Dangerous, in particular, features some charmingly bold color-schemes, and it effectively uses darker shades to highlight textures and create the illusion of shadows; its textures are sharply rendered and clean-looking, and its separate layers blend together in a way that's tonally harmonious and pleasing to the eye of a classics-loving enthusiast. Really, Rick Dangerous is a good-looking game. They say that the Amiga version is the prettier, but in my estimation they're just about identical; the Amiga version has deeper resonance and higher-quality sound samples, sure, but that's about it.
Though, the game is very light on music. Its soundtrack is limited to a handful of tunes--title-screen and ending themes plus handful of stage-opening ditties. Mostly, the action is accompanied by an uneasy silence, which works out for the best, I'd say; the consumption of music would simply eat up precious brain processes, every ounce of which you'll need to fathom the game's Satanic level design.
Rick Dangerous shines more in the area of sound effects, all of which are well-sampled, crisp-sounding and loud. The game's noises boom from your speakers: Gunshots resound, explosions thunder, and dispatched enemies' pained wails ("WAAAAAAH!") pierce the air around you.
Even though it lacks for musical accompaniment and variety of location, Rick Dangerous is visually and aurally pleasing game. And that's about where the compliments end.
It's an Atari machine, so naturally the controller's input is limited to a control stick and a single button (to which we refer as the "Fire" button). As there are multiple functions but only a small number of inputs, controls can become a bit sloppy in particular instances. More on this in a moment.
The basic controls works well enough: Rick's left-to-right movements are responsive. His every jump is fully controllable, its apex afforded an extra bit of hang that helps to extend the time available for corrective redirection. And he can enter a crouch and smoothly crawl along the floor, the maneuver allowing him to sneak below enemy projectiles and squeeze his way through narrow passages.
All three of his weapons are assigned to the Fire button, the holding of which locks him in place in preparation for subsequent attack input. To utilize any of his weapons thereafter, you'll have to apply directional movement. Pressing forward extends his staff (the "Big Stick," as it's called), which doesn't inflict damage but instead, strangely, compels humanoid enemies to temporarily halt and unwittingly leave themselves open to attack. Pressing up fires his gun. And pressing down lays a stick of dynamite, whose explosion can kill enemies and clear away certain obstructions. Be aware that (a) he can't lay dynamite while crawling within a cramped tunnel and (b) the explosions can kill him, too.
At the start of any life, he's supplied six bullets and six sticks of dynamite, and he can replenish his stock by collecting the respective ammo and TNT crates. But be careful not to shoot at or lay dynamite down anywhere near these crates; much like in Gauntlet, accidentally blasting replenishment items will destroy them. And trust me: You can't afford to make that mistake.
The sloppiness starts to creep in when particular control elements come into conflict. If Rick attempts to leap over an enemy that's currently positioned near a ladder, he'll instead grab onto the ladder and enter his climbing animation, since jumping and climbing share the same input (pressing up on the control stick). As the top rung of a ladder registers as solid ground, there are times when Rick will automatically leap upon reaching its top; this will often lead to his unintentionally springing up into an afore-tossed projectile. And if your plan is to climb up a ladder and immediately shoot the enemy lurking directly above, forget it; you'll be lucky if the game recognizes your input.
To its credit, the game won't force a crawling Rick to descend down ladders. Also, it'll also prohibit him from scaling them when he's locked into attack mode. So the game can be mechanically sound when it wants.
But trust me: The bad far outweighs the good. This game has an abundance of other issues, a lot of which I'll be highlighting along the way.
And since the game is as stubborn as it is evil, it doesn't supply you many in the way of resources. You get six lives and zero continues. That's it. And never once does it award a 1up--not after you've completed a stage and certainly not after you've accumulated a set number of points. That's just crazy, man.
Now, if you're emotionally prepared for such, allow me to show you the many ways in which this game inflicts pain upon its deluded subjects. Scroll down to find out what fresh hell awaits you.
Our first mission begins after Rick crash lands his plane in the Amazon wilds while searching for the Lost Goolu tribe. The grounded adventurer finds himself in the Goolu's cavernous habitat, where there are tricks and traps abound. Beware: The level design is treacherous from the start, and there's no opportunity to ease yourself in.
The Indiana Jones influence is strong with Rick Dangerous, so it's not surprising that it seeks to replicate an iconic Raiders of the Lost Arc scene: Its opening moments are comprised of a sequence wherein you have to outrun a large boulder, which aggressively trails you for the length of three screens. Though, the boulder doesn't actually appear until you take a few steps, which for the uninitiated creates the illusion that the designers are providing the player a safe space within which he or she can experiment with the controls and get a general feel for the game. They're not. You get no such luxury. Once you press forward on that control stick, you'd better keep on holding it. Pause for even a microsecond and you're dead. Welcome to Rick Dangerous. You'd better learn in a hurry.
Only after you've survived this sequence will you find momentary safety. Be sure to appreciate it.
Thereafter, Rick Dangerous wastes no time in showcasing its multitude of questionable design choices. For one, it really, really loves blind drops onto spikes and other deadly objects. Anytime you're descending down a multi-pathed vertical room and find that your field of view is suddenly cut short, it's a certainty that your forward traversal will become a pure guessing game. Blind drops are objectionable even in sanely-designed games like Mega Man 2, where they're encountered occasionally, so you can imagine how infuriating a device it becomes in this banefully constructed torture sim, wherein every other drop can lead to potential death. You'll have to be clairvoyant enough to know which gaps to avoid and when to hold a specific direction while falling. Such instances are so numerous, in fact, that you're likely to forget which drops are which during subsequent attempts, especially when your mind starts to wander as you tediously retread the same ground over and over again.
The game also has a fondness for the types of spikes that suddenly jut out from whichever wall or surface you're currently approaching or brushing up against. And they can appear at any time in any location and without any warning. Soon you'll find yourself overcome by a sense of paranoia; you'll be second-guessing every plan for forward-advancement and looking at every object and structure with suspicious eyes. Oh, and while you're busy considering what might or might not be a trap, you'll probably be killed by the spiky gate that just dropped on your head--the one you didn't see because it blended in with the blocks' gray texture. I mean it: This game throws everything at you--every rotten trick imaginable.
This brand of chicanery is so constantly on display that I'm not even going to continue mentioning it. It's what you should come to expect. The whole of Rick Dangerous is an exercise in the most brutal form of trial and error. You can't anticipate where, exactly, the danger lurks or when it's about to strike. All you can do is cautiously inch forward and hope that (a) the innocuous-looking wall ornament doesn't spit fire in your face, (b) spikes won't jut out from the wall adjacent to that ladder's base, or (c) the ceiling directly above doesn't suddenly collapse. You learn by dying, which you'll do a countless number of times. Inevitably it'll become clear that memorization is your only true ally in this world.
And this is not to mention Rick Dangerous' hardcore-platforming aspect: This game is rife with challenges whose surmounting requires maneuvers that are both highly leveraged and super-precise. We're talkin' about the kinds of jumps where you'll have to inch your way over to a platform's very edge and hit "up" at the very last second if you hope to avoid bopping your head--a single pixel of it--on the uncomfortably close ceiling above. We're talkin' about actions that demand triggering a device and responding to its unexpected, life-threatening movement with perfect timing. Rick Dangerous' is the type of no-holds-barred game design that makes you believe that its creators are unrepentant sadists.
Well, I'm convinced, at least.
The only bit of good news is that enemies are also susceptible to all of these deadly hazards.
The most common of these antagonists are the humanoids, who come in two flavors: patrollers and seekers. The former simply marches back and forth over an assigned space while the latter actively chases you down--endlessly gravitates toward your current position. Seekers, however, can behave quite erratically, those of their type sometimes choosing to momentarily confine themselves to a given space wherein they begin aimlessly circling about; this makes it difficult to effectively predict their movements and manipulate their AI. I'll explain later why this can prove troublesome.
Here, in the Amazon, it's the tribal natives who want to kill us. Some of them are weaponless while others carry spears, yet there's no real distinction between them; the difference is purely cosmetic; the spear-carriers never actually put their weapons to use (nor do any from this class of enemy). You can take out a humanoid-type enemy with a single bullet or a stick of dynamite.
Another persistent threat are the stone masks that can be seen adorning the cavern walls. These masks will begin to rapidly spit out arrows whenever you move to within an unmarked trigger point. Your best option is to crouch beneath the fire and stay in your crawl until you move out of the affected area. Most masks are simply decoratory, yet still they're able to arouse fear, because, really, you never know. Just to be sure, you should always make it a point to crawl about whenever both you and a mask are currently on level surface. But you know what? You should always stick to crawling. I say this because there are also instances where arrows or other projectiles suddenly come flying out from even normal-looking objects like solid bricks and wall tiles. Because of course they do.
The only other enemy here is a bat that has been assigned a very specific function. It's invulnerable to your weapons, so don't bother trying to kill it. Instead, think of it as a cog in a wheel--part of a mechanism of which you need to take advantage. Firing a single bullet into the resting bat prompts it to fly diagonally downward, thus removing itself as an obstruction; furthermore, the bat will help to clear the way forward by taking out the unsuspecting Goolu below. This is the game teaching you to think laterally. Running in, guns blazing, isn't always the correct answer and will likely lead to the regrettable depletion of your stock.
You'll also learn, probably via experimentation, that you can use dynamite to blow up the deadly-to-the-touch stalagmites and the bricks that block the way forward. Though, which bricks can be cleared away won't be immediately obvious; finding a dislodgeable fragment might require an extra bit of experimentation and some liberal use of your dynamite. Be advised that an explosion's range extends two tiles in every direction, so it's in your best interest to back off a bit and take cover. Also, it makes sense to duck into an aperture or climb to a higher level after setting dynamite near a targeted obstruction, since certain objects are programmed to violently fly in your direction after being dislodged.
Oh, I forget to mention that you can also climb on specially marked background textures. In this stage, you can grab onto the cavern wall's craggy handholds, which aren't always noticeable. As they tend to blend in with surrounding tiles, you might have to pay some special attention to spot them. Also, it's important to know that, as in the case of ladders, you can propel yourself off of a handhold by jumping as you near its peak. This will prove to be a useful skill later on.
Miscellaneous mechanics include blocks that move in scripted patterns, usually a few seconds after they come into view; they're traversable when locked in place, but they will kill you if you touch them while they're in motion. Also, you'll stumble upon trigger points that make spikes retract! But don't get your hopes up, fellow traveler; you won't find many of these.
Don't forget that you can reset a room's activity by exiting and reentering. This will prove to be a useful tactic in those instances where the most erratic of seeker-type enemies are clogging up access points. There are times when your successful progression will require hightailing it from the get go and beating these enemies to the spot.
And if you truly care about earning the highest score possible, you might want to collect any of the treasures you see laying about. The Amazonian cavern is home to a number of gold statues whose appearance I can only describe as "serpent-haired tiki head." Each one is worth five hundred points. Some are virtually free to collect while others are perilously placed. And then there are the sort that are just plain bait; you can snag them with some exceptionally precise maneuvering, though I'm not certain that they're supposed to be procurable. If you think it's worth the risk, though, go for it. And even if you're not the high-scoring type, you still might want to make it a priority to accumulate at least 1,000 points. I'll tell you why in a bit.
Also, you should never pass up an opportunity to grab those ammo and TNT cases. Trust me: You don't want to be short on ammunition in this game. Particularly, if you run out of dynamite, it becomes impossible to advance past certain stage sections; if that happens, you'll have to intentionally kill yourself so that you can restart with a full supply. Hell--there are times when killing yourself is the strategic thing to do, like, say, when you're short on bullets and there are no crates around. Though, throwing away even a single life is not something you should be doing if you're seriously attempting to beat this game. And God help you if you are.
Actually, being able to complete this first stage might actually qualify you as a deity.
Sometime later, Rick heads to the pyramids in Egypt at the request of London. He's tasked with recovering the Jewel of Ankhel, which has been stolen by "fanatics" who seek ransom for its return.
And no--I ain't even gonna dignify that pun by repeating it.
So the action takes place within the ornamentally rich innards of a pyramid, its passages populated with sarcophagi, arcs and lion-headed statues. The backgrounds' tiles are filled with hieroglyphics; those displaying horizontal strokes (or grip handles, I would imagine) are climbable, but as they, too, tend to blend in with the surrounding patterns, you'll have to actively be on the lookout for them.
The changes are mostly cosmetic: Here you can collect pharaoh busts, which are worth the same 500 points (the value of treasures never increases). Also, because we can't escape that Indiana Jones influence, we find that our humanoid antagonists are fez-wearing middle-easterners, who function identically to the Goolus. And snake statues take the job of stones masks and fire arrows whenever you're in range of the associated trigger points.
Though, we will encounter some newly introduced death traps: There are collapsing ceilings under which you must swiftly crawl. Though it may strike you as a clever idea, forget it: You can't simply wait out their falling animations and then traverse over them, since, for uncommunicated reasons, the ceiling blocks are deadly to the touch even when they're completely still. Also, there's an instance where you'll have to trigger a switch that temporarily raises a nearby block, under which you must race, with absolute perfect timing, before it drops back down. And some of those aforementioned arcs (I'd say predictably, being a fan of the Indiana Jones movies) are too dangerous to approach; if you get too close to them, they'll release undodgeable swirling fireballs. Even if it's true that the majority of the arcs are harmless background elements, it's still best to play it safe and tactically avoid them--work your way around them using any available circuitous routes.
The pyramid also introduces two new platforming elements: The first are springy surfaces that propel you upward at three-times your normal jumping height. As is a continuing theme with this game, it's not always obvious which platforms have been imbued with this springy property, since they're all similarly drawn; you won't know until you walk upon or land on one such platform and hear a boinging sound. Later on, you'll encounter horizontally moving platforms on which you'll have to ride; this is made exceptionally difficult because the game's physics lack friction, which means that you'll fall off these platforms if you're not constantly moving in rhythm with them. What's worse is that their movement-patterns usually entail pausing briefly before unexpectedly blasting forward. You can't help but feel that riding atop them is precarious in the most terrifying way. If you hope to successfully negotiate these sequences, you'd better possess supreme reflexes and some high powers of concentration.
Otherwise, the pyramid exhibits more of the same nastiness, including a particularly rough sequence early on where twice you have to guide seeker-type fanatics into an arrow trap by guiding them down a cramped stairway whose third stair begins firing arrows the very instant you touch down upon it; when dropping down to it, you have to remember to immediately enter a crouch and crawl over to its right side--but not to its extreme edge, which is outside the trigger range. If that happens, you'll have to instead halt, turn, and shoot the trailing fanatic in a single motion, a series of input that's highly susceptible to control conflict--specifically unintended actions. I hope your control stick/d-pad has a small dead zone. Mine doesn't, and so I screwed up this sequence a countless number of times.
Also contributing to the trouble was a mechanical oversight: When a crawling Rick begins his drop down to a level below, his animation is such that he has to first enter an upright position, which momentarily increases his targetability and renders his evasive maneuvering pointless. One of those arrows is going to catch him, man. (Actually, I find that this type of oversight is common in many games wherein crawling is a feature.)
As it became apparent during your earlier interaction with the bat, you have to know when a little experimentation is in order. There's one instance where three Egyptian guardians are patrolling a narrow passage at a time when Rick is likely to be short on bullets. While he might appear to lack the necessary resources, his greatest weapon lay right in front of him: the sarcophagus that stands in proximity to the guardians. If you speculatively fire a bullet into it, you'll find reward in a triggered event wherein angry mummies will start emerging from the sarcophagus and eliminating the guardians for you. Of course, they'll then become your problem; you'll have to sneak past these very same mummies, who will continue to pop out at regular intervals. Thereafter, you'll want to refrain from shooting sarcophagi, since their mummified inhabitants are invincible and tend to clog up the already-narrow spaces.
And then there are times when Rick Dangerous can be completely baffling. There will be many of those moments when you find yourself stuck in a room or a stage section that lacks either an apparent exit point or a mechanism whose manipulation might be the key to opening the way forward. And the game will give you nothing: no hints, cues or indicators. Your advancement will be wholly dependent on the discovery of mechanics whose existence you couldn't have know about; we're talking about the type of arcanity that entails shooting or stabbing random blocks or walls to activate moving platforms or other mechanisms "How was I supposed to notice that the brick on the left has a tiny, barely decipherable differentiating crack?" you'll wonder after stumbling upon the answer.
Now, as someone who grew up playing Commodore 64 games, I'm used to this type of esotericism, but still--this is unfair. You simply don't have enough ammo to go firing off bullets all willy-nilly, hoping to fortuitously strike an invisible trigger.
Competently managing your ammo supply is crucial in a serious run. Really, you have to conserve it where you can. Of course, if you're short on bullets and TNT, you can always jump over enemies, sure, but this, too, can prove risky, since (a) the erratic seeker enemies are known to suddenly switch directions while you're directly above them and (b) the game's hit-detection is ridiculously unfavorable. I'm not exaggerating: The enemies' hitboxes extend out at least half a tile from the their visible frames; so any time you attempt to jump over an enemy, there's a good chance that you're going to collide with him.
And this is what the game puts you through. This is the type of pain you're expected to absorb. I mean, Christ, man: I had to stop several times while playing and question my own sanity. "Why am I continuing to play this torturous creation?" I'd ask myself, my blood pressure having reached peak levels. "For whose sake am I doing this?"
These are not the kinds of thoughts that should be going through your mind when you're playing a game.
There's no rest for the certifiably insane, I guess. A few days later, we head off to Europe in response to a communique from British intelligence. The organization has requested that we rescue allied prisoners from the notorious Schwarzendrumpf Castle.
We're obviously in Austria and up against Nazis, who are of course the favorite villain of fedora-wearing adventurers.
So we infiltrate their stony prison, where they store their captives as well as their liquor. You can see wine racks and barrel taps everywhere you look. There are also some broken bottles laying around, and they're deadly to the touch--for both Rick and the enemies.
And just in case you didn't think the game was serious about it before, it wastes no time in reminding you that it wants you dead from second one. The enemy assault begins the moment you advance past the stage intro. Before your brain even has the chance to process the images appearing onscreen, Rick is being rushed by a spike-collared bulldog. You'll have literally a third of a second to respond to its charge with a well-executed jump. But chances are that you won't see it coming nor will you be able to react in time; it's likely that you'll be helplessly wiped out at least once the first time you intrude upon this stage. And you had better be paying attention when you restart: If your focus isn't there or your mind has drifted, it's possible that your entire stock will be drained in a flash. Similarly, some of the stage's checkpoints put you directly in the line of incoming fire, so you'll have to remain dialed in at all times.
But those bulldogs represent a nasty obstacle. You can't kill bulldogs, so the most reliable strategy for dealing with them is to move to within the trigger point--within four or five tiles of their resting position--and jump forward in anticipation of their charging attacks. Some bulldogs, however, have fallen into such a deep sleep that they won't even perceive your presence; sleeping dogs are essentially decoratory, and you can pass through them unharmed.
Our humanoid enemies are Nazi guards, some of which are drawn with shotgun-holding scabbards on their backs. I'm just now noticing that the weapon-carrying enemies' left- and right-facing sprites don't mirror each other; the designer actually made the effort to render uniquely detailed sprites for their separate profile views. I'm glad to see this; I've always been one to appreciate the small details.
Replacing the wall-mounted projectile-spewers is a special variety of humanoid who parks himself near the screen's edge and begins firing rockets the moment both of you occupy the same horizontal plane. Unlike the standard humanoids, rocket-firers are invulnerable, so you'll want to avoid direct engagement (most of them are placed within enclosed spaces, anyway).
The points-awarding "treasures" are actually the P.O.W.s, who can be seen bound by rope in front of their cells. Normally you'd want to place your prisoners inside the cells, but hey--what do I know? I'm not a cartoon Nazi.
This prison stage is a wicked concoction that combines all of the afore-experienced nastiness with yet another cruelly conceived game mechanic: Lost Woods-style mazes. That's right: Now you won't even be able to trust your sense of direction. There are times when you'll be presented two paths; the correct path will advance you to a new area while the other will send you back to a previously traversed area, sometimes way back near the start. Because, at this point, why not?
This was about the point where I could no longer make any meaningful progress. "Please let this be over," I'd say whenever I was lucky enough to make it to a new room's exit. But the stage would just never end, and ultimate death remained a certainty. Soon it became clear to me that I just wasn't going to be able to beat this game.
Fortunately, I learned via a Google search that Rick Dangerous has a secret level-select option. You can unlock it by entering the name "Pooky" on the high-score screen, to which you'll gain access if you've accumulated at least 1,000 points. Thereafter it'll remain unlocked until you reset the game. I wasn't going to see the final stage without it.
Unfortunately, there are consequences for resorting to this tactic. I'll explain later.
The rescued prisoners inform us that the enemy plans to attack London from its secret missile base. So now it's up to Rick to infiltrate this base and destroy its weapons system. While not Rick's, this is fortunately our last mission.
While its level design is as brutal as ever, the secret base is thankfully a short stage. And once again, it's nasty right from the opening moment. Before the graphics can even finish loading, the rocket-launching soldier on the screen's opposite side will begin his ceaseless fire. Somehow, you'll have to find a way to dodge them and find the opening necessary to descend to the room's lower level, where waiting are two sandwiching seeker enemies and a missile-storage rack whose ballistics fire off on their own; you'll encounter plenty of the latter as you advance through the stage, though, like with the arrow-firing wall ornaments, it'll be impossible to know which ones are active and which are purely decoratory.
Really, this opening room is just nuts. I mean, imagine spending 35 agonizing minutes making it here just to have your entire life-stock wiped out in about 8 seconds--before the stage's intro ditty can even finish playing. Even the cats who worked on Battletoads would be playing this thinkin' "Man--these level designers are a bunch of psychos!"
The enemy set is a combination of the previously encountered Nazi soldiers, some important-looking officers, and the installation's wrench-carrying mechanics. Also, there are some new traps, including one of the game's most abhorrent: flames that suddenly spew out from innocuous-seeming objects. It's not that they function any differently than the usual projectile-spewers, no, but that they emerge in the most inconvenient places, like, say, the wall directly adjacent to the ladder you're currently climbing. You can't bait out a flame or race past it when it temporarily retracts, no; get anywhere near it and you're dead. Rather, you have to avoid triggering them by inching your way over to the ladder's extreme edge and gingerly ascending; inch a single pixel too far and you'll fall to ground, probably onto spikes or some other deadly hazard. If an alternate path is available, be sure to take it.
There are also miniature gray rockets laying about. They may appear to be background objects, like the larger green rockets, but they're actually on the sprite plane and deadly to touch. Strangely, a few of them are collectible (as points-awarding "treasures"), but, as per usual, you won't know of their true nature until you approach them. Some others rocket off the screen and destroy enemies for you.
Otherwise, you'll have to deftly dodge and negotiate around cranes and minecarts, which sometimes appear in tandem.
What you'll learn is that the base's platforming element, more so than any other stage's, demands nothing less than pixel-perfection.
Finally you'll arrive at the game's final room, in which a single action is necessary: You have to blow up the missile-control panel by laying a stick of dynamite beneath it. Once it's destroyed, deadly explosions will rock the entire room; you can either take cover in the middle portion of the ground floor--wait out the blasts in the room's lone safe spot--or make a rush for the exit on the right. Either way, ultimate victory will now be yours to enjoy.
Your reward for enduring this absolute nightmare of a video game is a single-screen's-worth of congratulations, the accompaniment limited to a 15-second MIDI version of Rule, Britannia! and some text that alluding to Rick's future escapades, which are undoubtedly visited in the sequel. This is your reward except for if you used the secret level-select option, in which case you'll receive absolutely zilch. No ending scene. No congratulations. No special jingle. No nothin'. Just a black screen with the words "Game Over" plastered across its center--the same one that appears when your game ends via stock-depletion. Then it takes you right back to the title screen.
I mean, Christ, man--how uncharitable can you be?
Final Thoughts
Well, all I can say is that I'm very disappointed. Not with the ST, no; Atari's is yet another exciting and awesome mid-80s computer system, and its appeal is such that I wish it had been a part of my life when I was growing up. My problem is with Rick Dangerous, which I mistakenly thought would make a great first selection. You could say that I chose ... poorly. Frankly, Rick Dangerous' made for one of the most unpleasant, aggravating experiences I've ever had with a game. The people talking it up on Youtube must be mentally disturbed. That or they're blinded by nostalgia, so much so that they make even someone like me seem discerning in comparison. Oh, you bet that I'm totally placing the blame on them; after games like Rick Dangerous have finishing robbing you of all humanity, ideas like "personal responsibility" cease to have any meaning.
Rick Dangerous is a masterwork of terrible game design, and it proudly boasts of that distinction. It has no shame: It gleefully defies reasonability. It laughs uproariously at the thought of bringing a smile to the player's face. It piles on the pain without ever exhibiting any sense that it knows--or cares to know--that it's going too far. Really, it can't help itself. It wants you to suffer. It wants to advertise that its creators didn't know the definition of the word restraint. Now, I can't speak as to whether or not their creation, Rick Dangerous, is the most egregious of its kind, since I've played only a handful of them, but I wouldn't be surprised if consensus recognized it as such. It's that vile.
"So why do I do this?" I often ask myself. "Why do I voluntarily subject myself to these sadistically designed games?" And I always arrive at the same answer: "I don't know, man!" Really, I think that my willingness to suffer through bad games is a product of my natural inclination to want to see the good in things; that's probably what's driving me. That how it was with Rick Dangerous, at least: I kept holding out hope that it would find itself--blossom into the type of entertaining, wonderfully novel action game I associate with computer systems. But it refused to do so, and by the middle of its second stage, it became obvious that it had no desire to change its ways. The game had praiseworthy visual charm, certainly, but it just wasn't any fun. If ever there was a moment when I tried to convince myself that positive momentum might be building, it was surely fleeting; it would only be a matter of seconds before the game would slap me in the face with a baking sheet to remind me of what it was.
Now, I'm quite aware that the Atari ST is home to a number of superior games, and I'm going to find them. And I'm going to cover as many of them as I can on this blog. Believe me when I say that there are good times ahead for the ST and I.
Well, that or I'll unwittingly pick out more games like Rick Dangerous and consequently wind up in a mental ward.
And you know what? That would actually be more fun than playing Rick Dangerous.
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