One of my greatest gaming regrets is that I wasn't there to experience the early-90s DOS era, when the scene was exploding--when the platform and its games were helping to tear down barriers and reshape the entire PC landscape. Instead, as was typical of the younger me, I showed up right about when the party was ending (in 1998, when I got my first Windows-based computer). And I strolled into the joint wearing ignorance as my badge; really, I was so uninformed about the subject that I couldn't even determine what, exactly, DOS actually was, and I was oblivious to the fact that it had a history predating the Doom and Duke Nukem 3D generation.
Though, the truth wouldn't elude me for very long. Over the next couple of years, I learned more and more about DOS' true scope. As I browsed the enthusiast forums and pored over the retrospectives, I became acutely aware of its rich history and how its proliferance contributed to the growth of a wide range of computer ecosystems--particularly Windows'. That's when I began to discover the games that defined the platform's golden era. I'm talkin' about games like Wolfenstein 3D, Duke Nukem's earlier 2D action-platformers, and, of course, Commander Keen.
I developed a particular interest in Keen because the hardcore PC users were vehement in their declaration that Commander Keen (the first episode, I assumed) was their "Super Mario Bros." I had no choice but to take their word for it, since there was no evidence to suggest otherwise; these were, after all, the Internet's Wild West years, when an abundance of reliable information wasn't yet available. What else could I do? I mean, sure--seeing the game in motion might have helped me to form a more solid opinion, but realistically this wasn't an option; back then, in a pre-Youtube world, finding a play-through or even a quick-look video was exceedingly difficult (not to mention that hitting up random websites was potentially hazardous to your computer's health--much more so than it is now).
So, really, all I had to go on were a handful of message-board posts and a few pixelated screenshots--mere inklings of information, you'd think. Yet, somehow, I was able to take these fragments and join them together in such a way that produced was a highly alluring mental rendering. And soon I'd built up this image of Commander Keen as a top-of-the-line side-scrolling action game whose every intrinsic quality spoke of the fully-realized potential of early-90s-era DOS.
Still, I had no idea who Commander Keen, the character, actually was. Since his games were made by id Software, the company behind Doom, I assumed that our hero was either some brawny military reject (thus the substituted football helmet) or your average macho anti-hero who seemed way too "keen" to stomp the invading alien hordes. "What is this character's motivation?" I wondered. "And what's with that pogo stick?"
Just don't ask me why I waited thirteen years before deciding to seek answers to those questions.
That's right: For whatever reason, I completely forgot all about Commander Keen and his games (my only guess is that I'd grown too distracted by my recently founded Castlevania site and was dedicating so much time to building it that I simply stopped caring about anything else). They didn't reenter my consciousness until 2013, when I happened upon a Let's Play of Commander Keen Episode I: Marooned on Mars. And, well, what I was seeing on my screen wasn't at all matching the images I'd put together in my head. I was surprised to learn that Commander Keen wasn't a large-scale, technology-pushing production--basically a 2D equivalent of Doom--but instead a simple, modest-in-scope platformer starring an 8-year-old kid.
But I wasn't disappointed to learn as much; in fact, I was happy that the boys at id had taken this route. As someone who had recently developed a passion for video-game history--a love for old games and the irreplicable qualities that made them what they were--I could say that Marooned on Mars was exactly what I was looking for. It exhibited a distinctly-communicated old-school-computer-game vibe. It was brimming with the type of experimental spirit that was trademark of such foundational works. And it was both creatively and aesthetically appealing. Now, more than ever, I had a great desire to experience this game and its sequels within that unmistakably rendered, nostalgically soaked DOS environment.
The time had come to begin weaving DOS into the fabric of my being. So I downloaded the shareware version of Marooned on Mars and spent a few cool, quiet spring nights running, jumping and pogoing about Commander Keen's whimsical, wacky world. And I enjoyed every second of the experience.
Sadly, the fun had to end there. As much as I felt inspired to purchase and play the two subsequent episodes, I had to force myself to refrain. This was part of a broader decision to avoid fully immersing myself in the PC ecosystem until I was ready to buy a newer, more-reliably-functioning computer (my current machine was becoming increasingly unstable, its condition such that the fan was constantly spinning at top speed; more so than any performance issue, the fan's invasive whirring served to detract from the experience, its inescapable noise assuredly intruding upon and diminishing a game's natural ambiance) and thereafter activate my Steam account. I figured I'd pick them up then.
And because I'm consistently behind the curve when it comes to technology, "then" turned out to be four years later, in July of 2017. That's when I finally activated my Steam account and immediately purchased Commander Keen Complete Pack, an amazingly affordable package that includes Marooned on Mars and its two pay-to-own sequels (plus two games from Keen's second trilogy). The impetus for such was that I couldn't wait to play through the original trilogy--to see how it resonates when all three of its episodes are played in quick succession and viewed as a single entity--and share my thoughts here.
So let's do it! Let's talk about Commander Keen!
I don't know what was up with 90s-era computer developers, but they sure did love to saturate their games with satirical and absurdist strains. It's as if they all grew up watching British sitcoms. Were that the case, it would certainly explain the type of thinking that produced the plot to Marooned on Mars, whose surreal storyline is detailed in the game's built-in manual: Billy Blaze, an 8-year-old genius, has built an interstellar starship using such materials as soup cans, rubber cement and plastic tubing. While his parents are out of town and his babysitter sleeps, he heads over to his backyard workshop, the site from which he dons his brother's football helmet and becomes Commander Keen--the defender of Earth! Using his ship, the Bean-with-Bacon Megarocket, he dispenses galactic justice with an iron hand.
His most important mission begins when a hostile alien force from the planet Vorticon learns of his exploits and plans to remove him as a threat. While Keen is out exploring the mountains of Mars, the aliens steal the Bean-with-Bacon's most vital parts and hide them away in distant martian cities. If he hopes to set things right, Keen must recover the ship parts and thwart the impending Vorticon invasion. And if that weren't challenging enough on its own, he has to complete these tasks and return to Earth before his parents get home!
And they say that Japanese developers are nutty.
Marooned on Mars and its sequels are what you'd call "classic Apogee games." As is the norm with those of their type, the games' action commences in overworld hubs from which you access a number of side-scrolling stages. Specifically, theirs are top-down map screens within which Keen has full 360-degree movement. And their defining feature is freedom: After clearing an episode's mandatory introductory stage(s), you can progress through the rest of the game in any way you so desire and do so with only a limited amount of restriction. Each stage places Keen within a large, continuous environment that can potentially stretch several screens in all directions.
The games' level design is haphazard as a rule. As you progress through a stage, you'll be overcome with the sense that there's no inherent structure or logical means of progression. No matter its shape or size, a stage's environment is wide open to exploration, its available space comprised of multiple pathways--some more inviting than others. There are no time-limits, so there's no pressure to hurry; you're free to explore at your own pace--to throw yourself into the action and let it take you where it may. It's usual that the majority of branching paths lead nowhere special; if you're traveling them, it's likely that you're unwittingly chasing after points, which you accrue by collecting the items seen floating about everywhere, their arrangement observably scattershot. You might want to go our of your way to collect as many of them as you can, since the points they dole are useful for earning extra lives (one additional stock earned for every 20,000 points), which you'll definitely need in these, a trio of games wherein the hero dies after taking a single hit. (Though, if you're the type who finds item-collecting to be too tedious or if you're stressed by the idea of Game Overing and losing all of your progress, you can always nullify this aspect by abusing the save system.)
Intermixed with these items are gun icons, which provide your pistol ammo (a varying amount depending upon the given episode). They're comparatively short in supply and usually placed in enemy-packed recesses or out-of-the-way locations; still, as ammo is a valuable resource, it's worth the effort to find and procure it, even if the process entails braving danger. Each icon supplies five bullets.
And, like in Doom, there are some instances wherein your progress will be obstructed by color-coded door that won't open until you've found the associated keycard. There can be as many as four such doors in any stage.
Mostly, though, the tempo is yours to set. If you want, you can stick around and collect every item in sight, or you can throw caution to the wind and absolutely speed through a stage. Do whatever feels comfortable.
There's no denying that the games' level design is rough and unpolished--some would say "amateurish"--but, honestly, that's what provides them their distinct flavor. I can't think of a single NES, Commodore 64 or Master System platformer that looks or feels like them, nor do I know of one that is as proud to shamelessly revel in its own messiness. But let me be clear that I'm not apologizing for unfortunate byproducts like specially placed enemies being redirected as a result of their struggling with structures' geometry or others passing through color-coded doors and winding up in places they're not supposed to be, their added presence making further traversal more troublesome or perhaps impossible. That kind of stuff is just sloppy.
Commander Keen's most notable contribution to the genre--the item for which the series is best known--is the pogo stick, using which Keen can propel himself into the air at up to two-times his normal jumping height. More than its, uh, unorthodox style of level design, the Keen series' pogo action is what helps its individual games to stand out from the rest of the would-be Mario-killers; it works to provide a new twist on classic platforming, the ability to spring high into the air imbuing the player with the sense that no obstacle is insurmountable and no location is off limits. Where those other heroes need special suits and/or specially placed springs to fully navigate their spaces, Keen can readily reach any height using his trusty pogo stick, which he can whip out at any time (the action button swaps it in and out). Pogo-jumping, you'll find, is both highly useful and fun! I'm a big fan of it.
Naturally you'll encounter a number of alien antagonists, a selection with which you'll interact in different ways. You won't learn of an enemy's method for dealing damage or if it can be destroyed until you get up close and personal with it. And like in Doom, newer, nastier enemies are introduced in each successive episode. I'll talk about them as they appear.
Now that we've covered the basics, let's take a look at the respective games, starting with the series' progenitor: Commander Keen Episode I: Marooned on Mars!
So here we are on Mars, which in the years prior was colonized by the Gargs, whose despotic leader, the Martian King, built an empire on the backs of enslaved Yorps. Events surrounding the settling of the Viking Lander (basically it landed on the King's head) caused a political upheaval that resulted in the Gargs being ousted from power and the Yorps gaining their freedom. The red planet has since been invaded by the Vorticons, who have taken advantage of the power vacuum and turned the martian metropolis into an outpost.
So it's up to Keen to infiltrate these repurposed bases and free them from the Vorticons' grasp. There are a total of 16 stages (one of which is an optional secret stage accessed via a hidden exit in Red Maze City), and they come in two forms: large, fully fleshed compounds and small shrines. It's not necessary that you enter any of the shrines, but I strongly advise that you do, since (a) one in particular houses the pogo stick, which you'd be a fool to pass up, and (b) their ceremonial Yorp statues' archived messages provide useful clues (well, usually).
You'll likely spend a large portion of the opening minutes getting acclimated to Keen's floaty jumping controls, which at first will feel uninviting and awkward, particularly to those who are used to the precise, flexible controls found in games like Super Mario Bros. and Mega Man. In comparison, Keen's jumps aren't as easily influenced; his can be redirected to a limited degree and only after the apex has been reached. And that's when he's jumping straight up in the air. Add in the element of distance and forget about it: His forward momentum is so resistant to counter-force that long horizontal jumps might as well be regarded as "committal." So there's high learning curve (or "unlearning curve," as it were), and even after adapting you might still feel as though your movements are unsteady, especially as you're attempting to steer pogo jumps, their motion often unpredictably wild and likewise resistant to heavy influence.
Honestly, there's really only one questionable control aspect: You have to press the jump and pogo buttons (or keyboard keys, if that's your preferred method of input) simultaneously to fire Keen's pistol. The problem is that you're normally hitting the buttons in quick succession--swapping the pogo stick in and out and then immediately executing a jump--which leads to many an instance wherein button-presses are occurring so rapidly that you can't help but hit both buttons at the same time. The result is a whole lot of wasted ammo. There's no reason why gunfire couldn't have been assigned to a single button. I mean, there are what--about 98 other keys on a keyboard? It can't have been that they decided to condense the controls for the sake of gamepad users, since even 1990-era controllers had more than two buttons. Whatever the case, we're left with an unavoidable issue. You just have to deal with it.
Whenever I gaze upon or think about Commander Keen's visual presentation, I'm always reminded of Super Mario Bros., which is to say that its graphics are primitive in nature yet remarkably rich with character. You can't help but feel charmed by them--enchanted by the mental images they evoke. You look at the screenshots and see beyond the single-hued backgrounds, simple two-tone color schemes, and basic object textures; you know that what you're actually seeing is an aesthetic that's so unmistakably classic that its every shape, form and color shade is able to tell a story of how the medium was evolving, what the atmosphere was like at that particular point in history, and why it was such a special time for video games and the people who loved them.
Well, that's what I get from them, at least. That's what I'd say is the true power of Commander Keen.
There are those stretches when it's not the most attractive or well-designed game, sure, but on the whole in looks fine. Its environments are cleanly rendered. Its color pop. And its characters are both well-drawn and well-animated. Really, it's what I expect a 1990 DOS game to look like.
Here's what I can tell you about the music: There is none. There's not a single music track to be heard in this game. All it has, in terms of conveyance, are a handful of denotive three-second jingles. I'm knowledgeable enough about the sound limitations of 1990s-era DOS to sense that this is probably for the best; at the time, the available sound cards could barely manage to produce anything above Atari 2600-level noise. And, well, I think that this works in the game's favor! Not to apologize for its lack of aural augmentation, but I feel that silence proves to be the best form of ambiance for this type of game. The absence of music allows for the surrounding environments and their mysterious structures to instead convey the tenor of stages; and what's often generated is a tense, foreboding atmosphere that keeps players alert and focused squarely on what's in front them. The presence of happy, peppy tunes would have served to rob it of this important quality.
The action, itself, is communicated via those memorable DOS sound effects: the bleeps, bloops and tremoring that accompany Keen's jumping, shooting and walking animations, respectively. Though, it's true that the tremoring sounds can become particularly grating, especially when the level design is such that Keen is constantly engaged in prolonged walk-cycles. It's better to hop your way across a mile-long hallway, I say--do your brain a favor.
We'll encounter all forms of resistance along the way. There six antagonists in all: The omnipresent cyclopean Yorps, which are basically the Goombas of the Commander Keen world. They don't inflict physical damage; rather, they push you around and hinder your forward motion; they also like to interfere in your platforming efforts and generally harass you. You can kill a Yorp by shooting it, or you can save your ammo and instead temporarily immobilize it by jumping on its head.
The stationary purple Trappers remind one of Piranha Plants. Though, this breed of carnivorous plant is of the variety of pure obstacle, which is to say that you can't kill 'em; all you can do is jump over them--advisably initiating your jumps from a distance, since the Trappers' hitboxes are about one-and-a-half-times the size of their visible sprites.
The tentacle-eyed Gargs are sort of an evolution of the Yorps, though theirs is an actual threat. They can kill you with contact, which they're always looking to initiate; if Keen and a Garg are currently standing on even ground, it'll suddenly charge toward him. There are two ways to deal with a Garg: bait it into a pit (if it's not placed within an enclosed space) or shoot it a single time.
The indestructible miniature Buttler Robots have been specially designed to run interference; they patrol platforms and attempt to hinder your progress by using their extended arms to push you as far back as they can. The equally indestructible R.O.B.-like Vorticon Robots are also programmed to patrol certain spaces and run interference; the difference is that their movement is erratic (they can switch directions at any moment) and they can intermittently fire lasers, contact with which will instantly kill Keen. As you can never predict when Vorticon Robots are going to fire, you should probably avoid standing next to them and pushing up against them.
And then there are the Vorticons, themselves--a race of floppy-eared aliens that are best described as anthropomorphic rabbits. They're most analogous to the heavy-hitters in Doom (the Barons of Hell, Hell Knights, etc.); you'll know that the stakes have been raised whenever one of these guys shows up. That jolt of fear you feel will be the first sign ("Must back up now!").
Vorticons move at a methodical pace, but don't be fooled--they're not unathletic; they can jump twice as high as Keen, and they'll do so unexpectedly--usually when you're attempting to travel over them via a jump or a higher platform. To an ammo-lacking Keen, they serve as troublesome if not insurmountable obstacles. So you'll want to be stacked if you're planning to confront one or more Vorticons. Four shots will do one of them in.
The Vorticons are more ubiquitous in the subsequent episodes though more easily dispatched, since Keen is provided more-powerful pistols. For now, they're a major threat.
Thankfully enemies don't respawn when their corpses are scrolled offscreen. That's one of the great things about computer games: Their host systems are so stacked in the areas of processing and memory that they can spare enough resources to remember each and every enemy you've killed no matter how massive the stage-area. The only small compromise is that a corpse might be missing when you return to the scene. And, really, who cares about that (besides sadists)?
You'll also have to work around and avoid making contact with hazards like flames, spikes, icicles and liquid, which in any variety will administer instant death. The blasts from ice cannons won't kill you, but they will temporarily encase you in an ice block, breaking out of which entails a moment of vulnerability wherein surrounding enemies will have the opportunity to cheaply take you out. (Later on, though, you can cleverly utilize an ice cannon's fire as the means for accessing the aforementioned hidden exit.)
So about those collectible items: Words like ubiquitous and omnipresent can't even begin to describe the nature of their appearance. You see them literally everywhere, those from their group sometimes coating entire surfaces. Think of Super Mario Bros. if 75% of all available screen tiles were coins. It's ridiculous, yes, yet at the same ideal, because you're certainly going to need the points they dole.
The item list includes the types of toys and treats that are popular with kids like Keen: balloons, soda (basically Pepsi cans that have been turned sideways to hide the logo's most authenticating details and keep the intellectual-property lawyers from attacking), pizza slices, teddy bears, and, of course, the philosophical works of Immanuel Kant. Because, I guess, the road to enlightenment starts with diabetes.
Each item awards a specific number of points. And its rate of appearance is a good indicator of its worth: Items higher in value appear less frequently than their inferiors while those most desired (teddy bears and Kant-labeled books) are relatively rare and are usually placed in some of the more harrowing locations (like cramped passages that are filled with hazards).
While the game allows for you to happily ignore shrines, I like to visit the lot of them for completion's sake. Also, I enjoy surveying them; I find great appeal in their chosen aesthetic, observing which brings to mind places that I've explored in a certain plumber's magnum opus. I refer to these shrines as the "Super Mario Bros. 3 areas," since their block textures and general graphical style bear a strong resemblance to the one most associated with Super Mario Bros. 3's castle and underground areas. "Is it a coincidence that their designs are so similar?" I wonder. "Or was it meant to be referential?"
I like to think that it's the latter. The guys at id Software were, after all, huge fans of Super Mario Bros. 3, so much so that they whipped up a PC port of it and tried to sell Nintendo on the idea of slapping an officially license on it. So it might be that Keen's is a fascinating vestige of a port that never was. Talk about spiritual connections.
The final stage (or the map's southmost compound, if you've chosen not to clear the stages in logical succession) has something resembling a boss battle. This, the Vorticon Commander's Castle, is home to the seemingly invulnerable Vorticon Commander, who can't be hurt directly. If you've been visiting the shrines and heeding the clues, you might have some inkling as to what you're required to do. Those who haven't been as diligent will probably find themselves firing like mad, in every which direction, while wondering if their game is busted--until, that is, they luck into the correct solution: Killing the commander requires dislodging the large stone block that hangs directly atop his chamber; to do this, you have to work your way to the area's top portion--a process that entails navigating your way through some concealed pathways--and shoot the chain that keeps it suspended. Once dislodged, the stone will fall onto and crush the Vorticon Commander, permanently removing him from the picture.
This fight is interesting because nothing you've seen prepares you for it. No other stage exhibits a mechanic in which you have to dislodge a hanging object or in any way manipulate the surrounding environment. What we get is a unique boss encounter born from an engine that's a lot more flexible than we've been led to believe. The sudden discovery of such makes for a legitimately cool, genuinely surprising moment.
Though, the game won't necessarily end here. Ultimate victory won't be yours until you've completed certain stages and recovered the four ship parts. The parts in question include the flight-controlling stick--a repurposed controller, which Keen originally stole from his brother. The power-supplying car battery, which he took from his mom's car. The heavily modified vacuum cleaner that functions as the ship's ion propulsion unit. And the fuel-supplying bottle of Everclear, which he swiped from his dad's liquor cabinet. I'm just realizing that you only have to finish five stages (the mandatory opening stage plus those that hold the four ship parts) to complete the game. But you know what, man? I'm going to continue to play them all anyway. Anything else and I'd be robbing myself of the experience.
The game promptly ends upon your procuring the final ship part, at which point a closing cut-scene is triggered. In summary: Keen repairs the Bean-with-Bacon Megarocket and hurries to get home. As he approaches the Earth's outer atmosphere, he looks out into space and discovers that a Vorticon vessel is headed in the same direction. We then cut to an exterior shot of the Blaze household--specifically the backyard--and observe a dialogue exchange that confirms that Keen was able to make it back to his room before his parents returned. Also, we learn that Keen took with him a little souvenir--a Yorp, which he hopes to keep as a new pet (we'll see it all leashed up and bound to a tree in a future cut-scene). Most importantly, we learn that Keen has won't be sleeping this night, for he knows that it's his duty to jump back into action--to infiltrate the looming Vorticon Mothership and prevent its further advancement!
Thus ends Episode I: Marooned on Mars, which I feel represents Commander Keen in its most accessible, playable form. What it serves to exhibit is that these games are at their best when they show themselves to be cognizant of their inherent limitations and endeavor to work within the acceptable parameters. When they don't, you get the bad parts of Episode II and the whole of Episode III, wherein their creators' inexperience becomes manifest and the game engine's worst elements are magnified exponentially. Whenever there's a combination of glitchy mechanics, unfair enemy placement, and rotten level design, Commander Keen becomes absolutely intolerable--unacceptable, even.
Let's take a look at what the subsequent episodes did well and where they fell astray.
Episode II: The Earth Explodes takes place entirely on the Vorticon Mothership. The game's manual informs us that the Vorticons are preparing to destroy every one of the Earth's major cities by blasting them with the vessel's devastating X-14 Tantalus Rays. Our objective is to locate the individual Tantalus devices and destroy them. We also learn that the Vorticons are not acting on their own will; rather, they're being psychically controlled by a mysterious-sounding figure called "The Grand Intellect," who resides on Vorticon VI, the Vorticon's home planet. So it appears that they're all just pawns in some grander scheme.
There's no skimping here: The Earth Explodes features 15 fully fleshed action stages (no shrines or other abbreviated areas). Some are of the standard move-from-point-A-to-point-B variety while in others the point is to destroy the Tantalus devices' main generators by shooting their protective glass domes; a single shot will neutralize a generator. Though, you have be careful not to accidentally activate the generator by flipping its connected switch; doing so will trigger a cut-scene wherein a giant laser blows the Earth to smithereens (which begs the question "What's the point of targeting individual cities when any fired ray will likely level the entire planet?").
A neat little touch is that the targets are visually communicated. Every Tantalus device has adjacent to it a photo of the city that's set to be destroyed. It's one those small-but-ever-important character-defining elements.
We're already in possession of the pogo stick, which is a good bit of continuity. As someone who has been weaned on Metroid games, I get drawn into thinking that a sequel will arbitrarily strip you of your powers and force you recover them in some contrived manner. I'm happy that the Keen games refrain from traveling a similar route.
Also, Keen has upgraded his weapon to the Vorticon Hyperpistol, whose shots pack more of a punch. He starts the game with only three bullets, though, so you'll have to make it a point to seek out ammo, since the enemies here are more aggressive and larger in number.
The enemy cast is mostly all-new. The only holdovers are the Vorticons, whose ship-dwelling variety sport alternatively colored garb (yellow jumpsuit with orange belt); this time, though, you can take them out with a single shot.
They're joined by four others: You have the patrolling Guard Robots, which are an upgraded version of the Vorticon Robots; they hover back and forth, stopping intermittently to fire four fiery blasts in quick succession.
Then there are the long-legged, clingy Scrubs (they remind me of characters from the Mr. Men series of books), which circumnavigate platforms, structures and even entire stages. Mostly they push you around and impede your progress, but they can also unwittingly aid you; that is, you can stand on top of or on the side of them and use them as a means of transportation (this is actually required in certain stages)--sort of mobile platforms.
I'm pained to mention the amazingly obnoxious Young Vorticons, who hyperactively run and jump about the vessel's open spaces. If you make contact with one of them, you'll be completely immobilized for about five seconds, a period during which you'll be highly vulnerable to other surrounding threats. Run into a bunch of them while in a cramped or enclosed space and you can potentially find yourself trapped in an near-endless cycle of immobilization; it can get so bad that you'll hope for a damage-inflicting enemy to come along and put you out of your misery. You can kill them, sure, but that's easier said than done; they're difficult to target, since they're very swift and constantly in motion; attempting to put one down could possibly lead to the depletion of your entire stock. Young Vorticons are by far the worst enemy in the series. Hell--I'd go as far to call them one of the worst enemies in the history of video games.
And finally there are the game's most menacing adversaries--the Vorticon Warriors, whose attire (banana with holes cut out plus colored joint pads) reminds one of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The image of such is an accurate harbinger: These bulky brutes are quicker and more agile than the standard Vorticon grunts and they fire pistols. You can expect to see them hanging out near or protecting the Tantalus devices. It takes four shots to kill one of them, but, really, it's better to save what little ammo you have and instead find ways to tactically navigate around them. Assault them only when it's necessary--when they're encountered within narrow passageways or found guarding Tantalus devices.
Otherwise, there's a new hazard: electrically charged antennae, which kill upon contact.
The Earth Explodes is a tougher game in general. Enemies, as mentioned, are more numerous and more aggressive, and the platforming challenges are a lot more harrowing. Really, though, the increased difficulty mostly stems from the game's rougher, more unforgiving level design, which sees hordes of enemies packed into the tightest of spaces, the proliferance of blind drops, and many long stretches wherein you're precariously traversing over deadly surfaces--sometimes via moving platforms, all of which are mechanically shaky. Basically this is where the young developers' lack of discipline begins to show; by the time you reach the game's midpoint, you'll come to sense that their determination is outpacing the game-engine's actual rendering ability.
They do what they can to create some visual distinction. Most noticeably, they swap in a whole new assortment of items. Available for collection, this time, are chocolate bars, hamburgers, cake slices, Vorticon-brand beverages, and the highly coveted Vorticon dolls. Strangely, in another instance wherein the established convention is suddenly challenged, we find that it's possible to stand atop the Vorticon-brand canned beverages and treat them as platforms (approaching them from any other angle will lead strictly to their procurement)! It turns out to be a rather impactful mechanical change, the cans' solidity working to add a strategic element: "Should I collect that row of cans and earn 2,000 points, or should I pogo off of them and reach heights that will be otherwise accessible if they're absent?"
One stage in particular demands that you consider the cans' positioning. If you hope to obtain its yellow keycard, you'll have to consciously avoid collecting a stack of cans that connects an upper and lower platform. If you remove them from the scene, the circumnavigating Scrubs, from whom you need an assist, won't be able to travel to the room's left side, where the out-of-normal-reach keycard is located. Thus, you won't be able to complete the stage, and you'll have to purposely kill yourself.
So you can expect for there to be instances where you'll have to think about how the item arrangement might effect your ability to progress.
Additional differentiation comes in the form of a new environmental touch: textured backgrounds. We are talking about a single texture, sure, but one whose presence does its best to provide The Earth Explode a somewhat-unique personality. Every newly added detail counts.
Though, the game's most unique, most interesting new addition is its light-manipulation mechanic. In certain stages, that is, you can turn the lights on and off by interacting with specially placed light switches, just as you can in the Doom games. This is more than simply a cosmetic change: The lighting conditions actually effect how some of the enemies behave. In particular, it forces the Vorticons to adhere to their safety protocol, which suggests that they not jump when it's dark; it keeps them grounded, which is of great benefit in locations where many of them are packed into the level directly below and the dividing platform is jump-through. The darkness isn't such that you can't see anything, mind you; you'll still be able to identify an object by observing its outline and texture, however muted.
I tell you, man: When I play a Commander Keen game, I sometimes feel as though I'm playing a two-dimensional prototype of Wolfenstein 3D and Doom; it's like a study in how their core mechanics were developed and tested.
So once the Tantalus devices, of which there are eight, have been disabled, the ending will trigger. As a result of our heroic effort, the Vorticon invasion has been thwarted. The victorious Billy heads back to Earth for a nap while the defeated Vorticons retreat back to their home world to inform The Grand Intellect of their failure. Luckily for Keen, it snowed overnight and as a result school has been closed for the day. As expressed to his mother during a dialogue exchange, this means that he now has plenty of time and opportunity to rid the galaxy of the Vorticon menace and discover the secret of the mysterious Grand Intellect!
He'll attempt to do as much in Episode III: Keen Must Die!
So now Keen is taking the fight directly to the Vorticons. He blasts his way through space and arrives at Vorticon VI and specifically the Island of Vortiville--a suburban area haunted by a number of "mind-numbing horrors." This is the site from which he'll infiltrate the Vorticons' cities and military installations en route to discovering the location of The Grand Intellect's castle and the true source of this encroaching evil!
Vortiville is home to 15 action stages, one of which is a secret stage that you can access by hopping aboard the plesiosaur-like creature Messi (the rumored "giant beast of Loch Mess," who is apparently "rarely seen" despite his swimming about in plain sight), who travels around the overworld map in a scripted route. There are no gimmicks or special objectives this time; successfully traversing a stage is a simple matter of moving from point A to point B. This is true in all but the final stage, whose space is dedicated entirely to a boss fight wherein we tangle with our mystery mastermind.
I'm really fond of how they designed the residential-type stages, whose mode of construction works to instantly supply Keen Must Die! some strong visual distinction. Also, it's fun to look at and explore the blocky buildings, all of which are comprised of several connecting apartments whose interior spaces are filled with neat little touches; each is provided character by its furnishings and weird depictions. I can't recall any other platformer in which houses and buildings are rendered in this style. It doesn't always make for the most attractive-looking level design, no--the constructions sometimes so unshapely that they become visually jarring--but the resulting aesthetic is genuinely unique and interesting.
The buildings and their apartments are usually interconnected and thus labyrinthine in nature. You'll spend most of your time looking for their traversable openings and trying to discover the correct route through (assuming you haven't found a way to access the buildings' roofs and cheaply pogo around them). The apartments are narrow and cramped, yeah, but don't worry--they're not so oppressive that (a) your platforming ability will be severely compromised or (b) you'll be unable to deal with enemies who like to occupy and clog up certain rooms.
The enemy cast is a mix of old and new. Standard-variety Vorticons (now sporting red jumpsuits) and Young Vorticons return, and they behave exactly as you'd expect.
Joining with them to make the atmosphere inhospitable are a handful of Vorticon VI inhabitants: Immediately you'll encounter the Furby-like Foobs, who are basically harmless. Foobs flee whenever they sense your presence, their reaction a rather unpleasant utterance that's jarring, yes, but merely an assault to your senses. You can squash or shoot them.
Then there are the hefty, frightening VortiMoms, who lumber about and patrol narrow passages. They intermittently stop to spew large fireballs whose odds of connecting with Keen greatly increase when they're emitted within these tight spaces (note that you can nullify most projectile attacks by firing bullets into them). It takes five shots to bring down these big bad mamas.
Next you have the advanced, high-ranking VortiNinjas, who are the fastest and most agile members of their species; they can execute flying jump kicks with great speed, and their range is virtually limitless. The safest, most-effective way to deal with VortiNinjas is to funnel them into narrow passages, doing which hampers their ability to maneuver about (as their mode of movement is limited to jumping, this forces them to have to slowly inch their way closer to you). Do this only when alternate routes are available; otherwise you might have to expend a lot of ammo--four shots for each. (I should mention that it's possible to strike two or more enemies with the same bullet if they're close enough in proximity.)
And last on our list are the Meeps, a race of short, stumpy alien creatures who intermittently spew deadly sound waves--sometimes many in quick succession. While they're susceptible to pistol fire, it's difficult to engage them directly because they're usually placed within enclosed spaces, most of which you're not able to breach. Also, their emitted sounds waves travel through walls. For this reason, Meeps are both the most unassailable and the most nerve-wrackingly unpredictable of the projectile-firing enemies.
Also, Keen Must Die! introduces a couple of new hazards. There are turrets that fire lasers at timed intervals. You'll encounter two similarly functioning disruptors: Jack Balls, which rapidly rebound about an assigned space (save for those instances when they somehow break from sequence and wander off, which is likely the result of unintended glitching) and repel those with whom they make contact; and the spiky, metallic Jacks, which move about open space in a scripted pattern and kill upon contact. Neither can be destroyed. And replacing the electrically charged antennae are coverless toxic-waste barrels whose bubbly, acidic contents are equally deadly.
The item list is comprised of those recycled or slightly redrawn/recolored. Available for collection are double hamburgers, chocolate bars, cake slices, Voritcon dolls, and soda (this time the diet-variety Vorticon cola). The only new addition is the bullet icon that awards Keen a single piece of pistol ammo.
Keen Must Die! is by far the toughest of the three games, mainly for reasons I've already discussed. That is, its high level of difficulty is derived not from the challenges as plotted but instead a combination of the same technical shortcomings and questionable design decisions. Such issues are encapsulated in the game's four ridiculously awful "challenge stages," which must have been designed and tested by Satan's mentally stunted cousin. Nothing else would explain why these stages feature an exasperating combination of horrid level design and brutally bad enemy-placement--why when testing the stages no one noticed that the Young Vorticons can move through doors and wind up in places they're not supposed to be, their presence leading to about a tenfold increase in difficulty for platforming and fighting sequences that weren't designed to include them.
I'm not even going to talk about that seemingly unbeatable stage whose mischievously conceived, over-designed internal portion represents an elaborate ruse (the trick is that you have to travel over the stage via its roof, which you can access via a fairly inconspicuous opening near the stage's starting point). It's pointless. Having seen one of my favorite Youtube personalities play through the game, I already knew about this stage's true nature. I wonder, though, how I might have reacted had I not known--had I obliviously charged into the stage's interior. (It's likely that I would have quickly discovered the correct route, since I'm the type to always explore suspicious-looking openings.)
The point is that Keen Must Die! has more than a few stages that just aren't any fun to play. For that reason, it's the episode to which I'm least likely to return.
It is worth it, however, to visit the secret stage, which features a very interesting bit of world-building. If you travel its hidden route (the roof, once again), you'll discover a classroom whose chalkboard provides a letter-to-letter translation of the Vorticon symbols we've seen depicted on signs during the course of our adventure! Neat, huh? I mean, really--it's very cool that the guys at id made the effort to invent a whole new language and creatively implement it into the games' world. It works to create replayability, I think; you'll want to create a new file so that you can go back and translate the text on those signs--learn about how the Vorticons communicate. (Spoiler: Theirs are a mix of hints, directions, and insults.)
So it turns out that The Grand Intellect is actually the Earth-born Mortimer McMire, Keen's belligerent rival. His IQ is 315 whereas Keen's is "only" 314--something that Mortimer will never let him forget. Basically he's been bullying Keen since their earliest years. And now he's out to destroy the entire Earth and what he sees as its worthless, sub-intellectual populace. The only obstacle standing between Mortimer and the realization of this dream is Keen, who's done taking Mortimer's abuse. If he wants to extract revenge, he'll have to destroy Mortimer's mech-like Android Dummy, which has been termed "a hideous mangling machine"!
This is the setup to the trilogy's one true boss fight.
It's interesting how this encounter is crafted. In other games--the Marios, the Metroids and the Castlevanias--boss battles occur in isolation, the rules, mechanics and visual indicators that define them markedly distinct from those we observe in the action stages. Keen Must Die!'s boss battle, in stark contrast, lacks that feeling of separation, its essentially a collage that has been stitched together using as material all of the scripts and mechanics we remember from the previous actions stages. The developers knew that they were bound by the limitations of their engine, so they did the only thing they could: create something totally new using a bunch of recycled parts.
I can't find the words to express why I'm so fascinated by how they handled the construction of this fight. It's just such a clever way to work within a restrictive system.
So here we are battling the stationary Android Dummy in a two-screen-high vertical chamber. Solving the Dummy's riddle is a matter of discovering its vulnerable points and attacking them. Eventually you'll realize that you have to shoot the machine's energy cores (the electrified squares), of which there are six in total--three on either side. A single shot will disable a core.
You'll have to do this while dealing with other surrounding dangers, which serve to disrupt your offensive efforts. Two such dangers are the ceiling-mounted turrets found on either side of the room; they target the room's top platforms, whose presence opens up direct firing lines to the machine's shoulder joints. Also, the machine's abdomen is formed from two compartments, each of which contains a Meep. The unpredictable nature of their sound-wave fire is itself a deterrent; the effect is such that you'll be overcome by feelings of distress whenever you're hanging around the room's center. And since the machine's limbs are constantly bobbing up and down, there's the possibility that you'll be crushed to death when inevitably you attempt to maneuver your way to the room's right side; as the arms and legs move asynchronously, you'll have to practice some patience--look for the openings and time your movements.
It doesn't help that four of the cores are inconveniently placed, which is to say "not level with the adjacent platforms." So connecting with a shot becomes a matter of firing from a very specific, very unnatural-feeling position as you're jumping or dropping down. With the bottom cores, there's an added element of timing, as you have to sneak in a shot during the split second when an obstructing arm is retracted. And you can't play it recklessly; you have to be efficient with your shots, since depleting your ammo essentially ends the game (at this point, there's no way to restock, unless you saved your game prior to initiating the battle).
Once all six cores have been disabled, the machine's arms will break off, their ejection serving to remove the barriers that were closing off firing lines to the its heart. All that's left is to shoot the now-exposed heart, doing which will obliterate the Android Dummy and presumably Mortimer McMire. (My guess is that he somehow survives the explosion and resurfaces during the second trilogy, with which I have little experience; I've only played three or four stages of Episode IV: Secret of the Oracle.)
With Mortimer out of the picture, the Vorticons are freed from the mental enslavement. The Vorticon leader acknowledges Keen's act of heroism by awarding him the "Big V," possessing which comes with the highest honor. The attending press members then snap some photos of Keen and his new buddies, commemorating the moment. I've gotta say, though, that Keen doesn't look like much of a kid in the closing shot. He looks more like a 20-something pretending to be a kid, like any actor who has played a student in a high-school movie.
Well, whatever.
Then we transition to the "Congratulations!" screen, which confirms your victory and provides reasons as to why you should replay it ("Did you find the secret level yet!? Huh?! Huh?! Huh?!"). The people at id and Apogee also use this opportunity to advertise the previous episodes. And, really, I adore this aspect of old DOS games. I love these "Call us and order!" screens, which I see as emblematic of an era when the world wasn't so intricately connected and there was still a mystical divide between players and game developers. I imagine that screens such as these functioned to provide PC enthusiasts a spellbinding glimpse into another dimension--imbue them with feelings of awe and wonder.
It must've been quite a time.
Closing Thoughts
Commander Keen and I have a strange relationship. I don't place any of the original-trilogy games among the genre's standouts (their level-design issues are just too numerous), yet it remains true that I'm as helplessly drawn to them as I am to the Marios, the Sonics and the Bonks. I find great allure in their uniquely conveyed atmosphere and aesthetic. I have just as much fun absorbing their every vibe as I do jumping and pogoing about their curiously rendered environments. The original Commander Keen trilogy is a window into a world I find so very appealing--a window into an era of which I wish I could have been a part.
Whenever my favorite Youtube personalities play through and reminisce about their experiences with old DOS games--when they talk about how they'd get all of those demo disks in the mail, each one filled with shareware--I grow envious. "If only I'd been there," I think. My getting so heavy into DOS is part of an attempt to capture some of that feeling.
And I have to say: The Commander Keen games have certainly given me a small-but-oh-so-satisfying taste of what I missed.
They're not perfect games, no, but there are plenty of reasons to love them; theirs is a charming combination of fun platforming, spirited world-building and nostalgia-inducing aesthetic flair. Of all the games that have been said to be the "Super Mario Bros." of their respective platforms, those from the original Commander Keen trilogy come closest to living up to that distinction. They, too, capably fill the role of games that deliver quality entertainment while telling a wonderfully engrossing story about their host platform--about where it was at the time and how it was set to evolve. I imagine that the Commander Keen games feel as magical to PC enthusiasts as Super Mario Bros. feels to NES owners. It has to be that they're as foundational to the players' development as they are to DOS'.
It's these feelings that are inspiring me to delve ever-deeper into DOS' history. So far, I've mostly gravitated toward Apogee-published games (some of which I plan to cover here), but soon I'll be expanding outward. All the while, I'll continue to find great joy in immersing myself in this world--in attempting to make up for lost time. Commander Keen was the portal through which I found entry into this space, and for that reason I'll always hold a special place for it.
I look forward to seeing what else Keen and friends have in store for me. Our journey is just beginning.
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