From the Memory Bank: My History with Video Games

Commando - That You, Arnold?
How a misidentified hero fought the format wars and won on all fronts.

The one regret I have about my arcade-going days is that I wasn't more adventurous. I missed out on quite a few potentially great arcade experiences because I was too apt to play it safe and stick to games with which I was already familiar. Also, there were far too many instances in which I chose to dismiss certain games because I wasn't a particularly big fan of their genres. "If I didn't enjoy playing one of them," I thought, "then I probably won't enjoy playing any of the others."

Sadly, that's how I operated: I avoided racing games on the whole because I'd had bad experiences with Pole Position, OutRun and the like. "Why should I even bother putting a quarter into a Super Off Road or Hang-On machine?" I'd think to myself, a slight sneer forming across my face. "Am I really going to find 'fun' in continuously riding around in a circle and getting bumped off the road every five seconds?" 

And forget it if a racing game in question featured a specially designed cabinet in which I had I had to sit or driving action that could only be controlled by turning a physical steering wheel or dipping from side to side on a simulated motorcycle. I wouldn't go anywhere near its machine. I mean, I didn't want to look stupid or anything--not when I was so fashionably attired in my jogging pants and Michael Jackson Thriller jacket.

I wouldn't touch light-gun games. I'd pay sports-simulation games not a single glance. And I'd walk past any fighting game whose action unfolded across a single plane. I didn't need to play those types of games, I felt, because I didn't enjoy doing so in the past. "They just aren't for me," I'd decided long before.

Most of all, I had a deeply ingrained aversion to shoot-'em-ups of every type, be it single-screen, side-scrolling, isometric or rail-based. For reasons that are difficult to express, I'd always found them to be hideously monotonous. Whenever I'd attempt to play one of them, my mind would quickly begin to wander, and soon I'd be completely detached from the experience.

I couldn't connect with shooters. Outside of Space Invaders, Galaga and the 2600 version of Megamania--three games whose greatness allowed them to transcend their genre--none of them could ever hold my attention. They were too boring.

That's exactly what I was thinking the first time I encountered Commando.

I remember being immediately repelled by Commando. The sounds emanating from it were obnoxiously loud in volume and so grating to the ears (most war-based games were like that) that I was hesitant to even approach its cabinet. I'm serious: Its bullet-spray sound effect was one of the most jarring I'd ever heard; had I not known where it was coming from, I'd have thought that someone in an adjacent room left a power drill running in a washing machine. "This is obnoxiously loud even when measured against arcade-standard noise-levels," I thought.

Upon closer inspection, Commando appeared to be your typical vertically-scrolling shoot-'em-up. The only difference was that it was wearing the disguise of a war game. "This is nothing more," I was quick to conclude," than Xevious starring an army guy in place of Solvalou and a bunch of human soldiers substituted for the Xevian ships."

Nothing I saw at that moment compelled me to more deeply examine Commando's gameplay or feed its cabinet a single quarter. I didn't want anything to do with the game. "There's no need to even sample this one," I told myself. "There's no way it'll hold my attention for more than a minute."

In future arcade visits, I simply ignored Commando. Never once did I play it. I wouldn't even look at it. And I felt no regret about deciding not to.

Though, fate would soon bring us together in an unexpected way.

So one day, I was engaging in my normal routine of binge-sampling games from my brother's Commodore 64 collection--which, inexplicably, was continuing to grow exponentially by the week--when I noticed that one of the disk labels bore a familiar-looking title.

It was "Commando," that game I'd seen in arcades.

I decided to load it up just for curiosity's sake--to find out if it was indeed the same game. "That's worth a few seconds of my time," I thought, my lack of enthusiasm palpable.

I had no desire to actually play it, no. My plan was to confirm whether or not it was a port of the arcade game and then promptly eject the disk from the drive. After all: There was so many intriguing-sounding games to sample; I didn't have any time to waste on some generic-lookin' shooter. "I could never be that bored," I thought to myself.

As the game's title screen came into view, though, my tone quickly shifted. It did so because something surprising happened: The sights and sounds that were emanating from this version of the game were, right from the start, actually pleasing to the senses. Its title logo and stage environments were bright and boldly rendered, whereas the original's visuals were drab- and washed-out-looking, and its main theme was so striking that within seconds I was wholly absorbed by it. In that moment, I couldn't escape its grasp; all I could do was obey its command--place the 2600 controller down on the desk and just listen to it.

I couldn't recall the original having any in the way musical accompaniment (arcades were typically noisy, so sometimes it was hard to tell whether or not a game had music; all you'd hear were their more-amplified sound effects--their gunfire, crashes and explosions), so I was quick to think that this amazing-sounding title-screen theme had to be a exclusive composition.

And what a composition it was: This "unique" main theme was a minutes-long, complexly structured piece that was mesmerizing in its progression. Its intermixing note strings produced a harmony that was invigorating to the soul. It had strong energy to it and built to a powerful crescendo. And its deeply reverberant bass and dynamic guitar strains combined to form the foundation of an absolute rockin' piece!

This theme was, quite simply, a masterpiece of digital music. Before it could even complete its first loop, I was already convinced that it was the best video-game tune ever composed.

Many of the Commodore 64 games I'd played this point were either lacking for tunes or had soundtracks that were comprised of merely-decent-sounding MIDI recreations of Classical works or tunes as borrowed from the public domain, so I was quite stunned when I heard Commando's main theme. Up until that point, I had no idea that the C64 was capable of producing music with that level of quality; I didn't know that the C64's sound capabilities were actually among its greatest strengths. Commando opened my eyes (and ears) to this fact. To think that I considered its sound output to be inferior to the directly-comparable 8-bit consoles' because of what I'd heard in only three or four cutesy platformers. Turned out I was just playing the wrong games!

It turned out, also, that the main theme was just about Commando's only tune (it also contained a rather touching Game Over/Name Entry tune, but I didn't realize as much because I never listened to anything beyond its first few notes; I would promptly skip past these screens because I was eager to get back into action). It played on the title screen and during all four stages. Though, I wasn't the least bit disappointed to learn of such; no--I considered its reuse in stages 2-4 to be a good thing because consequently I was provided more of an opportunity to listen to that exhilarating main theme! 

I tell you, man: There was nothing like mowing down the enemy force's seemingly confused, incompetent gray-suited soldiers while under the entrancement of one of the most rousing, invigorating video-game tunes I'd ever heard. I wouldn't have missed that experience for the world.

I still wasn't terribly fond of Commando as a game, no, but I couldn't deny that it had amazing music. To me, it was worth playing Commando if only for the reason that I wanted to listen to its main theme. Hell--I didn't even need to go as far as to actually play the game. There were times when instead I'd load up Commando only with the intention of leaving it on the title screen so I could listen to the main theme without interruption--so I could let it play in the background while I stomped about my brother's room and rocked out to it.

That was a damn good tune.

And Commando wasn't done there, no. In the future, it would continue to show that it had a penchant for surprise.

So one summer day, two or three years later, I was visiting my cousins (Steve and Doug) in New Jersey and, as per usual, playing some NES games in their room. Soon after we finished messing around with the usual fare (Mike Tyson's Punch-Out!!, Mickey Mousecapade and such), Steve reached into the nearby cabinet and pulled out the next menu item to be consumed--the pair's latest purchase: the NES version of Commando.

"I didn't know that such a version existed," I thought to myself upon seeing the game's cartridge. "This game seems to randomly appear everywhere I go!"

As Steve showcased Commando for me, I didn't know quite what to make of it. I was immediately disappointed to learn that its title screen lacked for the accompaniment of the C64 version's striking main theme and had in its place some uncharacteristically upbeat, cartoony-sounding jingle. "Why would they go with that goofy tune instead?" I wondered in confusion.

Its action stages did indeed feature the more-familiar-sounding Commando score, but it was a disappointingly inferior rendition of it. What I was hearing was nothing more than subdued, conventional-sounding military music; the piece's dull, repetitive bassline worked to create a composition that could only compel one to robotically march in place.

"You can't rock out to this music!" I thought to myself as I listened to it. "It's catchy and all, yeah, but nowhere near as spirited or as invigorating the C64 rendition of this tune; the composer should have reproduced that one!"

Conversely, NES Commando's visuals were definitely superior to the C64 version's. Its environments were even-more-brightly-colored--blazingly so--and its textures sported a much-greater level of detail. I couldn't deny that I found the game to be an attractive-looking game.

We spent about fifteen minutes with Commando that day, and I got to be in control of the action for at least a third of that stretch. In that time, I discovered that it played pretty solidly, too. Its graphical glitches (mainly those that resulted in enemies disappearing from view for a second or two) sometimes made it difficult to determine how many enemies were currently onscreen, yeah, but otherwise its action flowed just as nicely as the C64 version's. Though, it had the C64 version beat in a couple of key areas: It controlled better (because d-pads were simply superior to joysticks); it had a full range of sound effects where the C64 had next to none; it contained more than one stage theme; and, as mentioned, it was nicer-looking. 

How NES Commando looked was what impressed me most, though. It was fond of its visual interpretation of the battlefield setting; images of it resonated with me in the days and months that followed.

Now don't you go thinkin' that I was some sort of copycat--that my playing Commando at my cousins' house and having liked it served to influence any of the purchasing decisions I made when I became an NES-owner not long after. Just because my cousins owned Commando didn't mean that I also had to. I mean, how stupid would it be for me to go out and buy a game that I already owned in some form?

You and your crazy theories.

So of course I made sure to pick myself up a copy of NES Commando during the compulsively-driven collecting phase that occurred from the early-middle months of 1989 to the Thanksgiving season of that same year (though, I don't recall the particulars of the transaction; I probably bought it, questionably, with some birthday money).

I remember that it was a used copy and that, as was often the case with used games, it didn't come with a manual. Though, the lack of such didn't represent any kind of barrier; no--Commando wasn't the type of game that required instructions. Its goals were immediately obvious: advance vertically; mow down every enemy in sight while making sure to dodge any bullets or mortars that are fired at you; rescue hostages before their captives have a chance to lead them away, offscreen; and complete the stage by plowing through the final wave of soldiers--those that spill out of the base located at its endpoint.

And, yes, you could acquire some grenades along the way. To pick them up, you had to make contact with their associated icons--those objects that looked like little stacked cubes. Grenades had a large blast radius and a piercing property, so they proved very effective against hut- or bunker-occupying gunners, shielded soldiers, and large enemy clusters.

In truth, I didn't know that there was a connection between the grenades and the cubes until my cousins mentioned as much; until then, I thought they were merely pointless collectibles. Seriously--what do "cubes" have to do with "grenades"? Were they supposed to be boxes or containers of some type?

I mean, I could have looked toward the screen's bottom portion and observed that my grenade-total was increasing every time I obtained a set of cubes, yeah, but, like, that would have taken too much effort. These games were simply asking too much of me.

If only I'd had access to that "unnecessary" manual.

I mean, sure--I did feel kinda silly for buying a game to which I already had access in some form, even though it was true that previously purchased version did have some notable differences, but I wasn't going to admit as much. I had too much pride to do that.

So instead I invented a justification--a very "convincing-sounding" rationale: "This is my version of Commando!" I proclaimed. "My brother is the one who bought the C64 version, so technically I have no right to declare ownership of it or go anywhere near it!"

"And besides," I continued, "who needs that icky version of the game when mine is so much more colorful and has way more content?!"

Well, I did, of course, since it featured that amazing main theme that I liked to listen to on occasion; but for appearance's sake, I had to continue to pretend otherwise.

"Ewwww--C64 Commando!" I'd say, suppressing a feeling of shame.

But it was true that NES Commando had more in the way of meaningful content. In fact, it contained content that I didn't even know about at the time of purchase. Until my Commando-owning friends revealed to me as much, I was totally unaware that the game boasted some newly added content. It had exclusive to it a bunch of new items (a set of binoculars, a bulletproof vest, a flashlight, and at least six other collectibles) and thus some unique mechanics plus what was by far my favorite new addition: secret underground passages, whose entrances you could uncover by either (a) tossing grenades onto concealed access points (locating which was a Zelda-style guessing game, since they had no obvious markings) or (b) entering into certain buildings.

These secret passages, which were comprised of one or two rooms, could house something desirable, like a set of points-rewarding prisoners or an item stockpile, or a distressing "trap"--a maze wherein you'd be the target of ambushes, deadly gas attacks, knife-throwing contraptions, or poisonous snakes. Apparently there were dozens of them hidden throughout the game.

In those early years, though, my friends and I only knew about a handful of these passages--just those in which prisoners were kept. We'd locate the prisoners in each play-through not because we had a particular interest in rescuing them but because we liked to observe the their movements--how the away-facing captives, in trying to escape from being tied up to posts, would comically waggle back and forth in short bursts. The first time we witnessed such, my friend Dominick remarked that what the prisoners were actually doing was "pissing on the floor," and we found that description so hilarious that from then on we repeated it to each other every time we entered one of those underground prisons.

Seriously, man--what was it with us and the whole "pissing" thing?

I was enamored with these gray- and blue-hued underground areas because they had such a distinct-feeling, curiously mysterious air to them. In contrast to the battlefield above, on which gunfire and explosions were constantly blaring, these stony bunkers were eerily calm and quiet, which created the sense that they were located in a separate plane of existence--one to which very few had access. Whenever I'd visit them, I'd feel inspired to wonder about their function. "Why did they build these spaces?" I'd wonder while examining their features. "And how come no one's here to guard them?"

It was more so the passages' music that worked to generate their alluring, somewhat-beguiling atmosphere. The low-pitched, slow-tempoed ditties that presided over these areas served to permeate them with mysterious vibes and alter the game's tone in a fascinating way. Seconds before, when I was on the battlefield, I was frantically rushing forward and thoughtlessly firing in all directions, my actions an impulsive response to the urgent-sounding, stress-inducing military music; but now that I was in a conversely undisturbed, muted space, I was feeling like a detective who was here to investigate the enemy's activities. That, I felt, was a great way to break up the action: briefly change the pace and give the player some time to think about what's going on in the game's world.

These passages reminded me of the contrastingly-toned green sewers in Trojan, which likewise had an isolated feel and offered me a temporary escape during which I could listen to the creepy-yet-mysterious music and let it guide my thoughts--help me to form a mental image of the game's world and what was happening within it. During any play-through of Commando, I'd visit as many of the underground passages as I could. I loved hanging out down there. I loved feeling as though I had the ability to vanish from view at any time--to temporarily escape the enemy's glare and operate within spaces they couldn't surveil. "I'm happily sneaking around down here, undetected and largely unassailed, while a big war going on up there and everyone's looking for me" was how I was made to feel. There was power in feeling that way--power I'd always look forward to wielding.

This element, alone, gave NES Commando a personality all its own. It's what made it my favorite version to play; it's what helped Commando to grow on me. 

Now here's the silly part about all of this: For the longest time, because there were no manuals to explain to me otherwise, I had no idea that Capcom's Commando was a product of its own design. Rather, I believed it to be a video-game adaptation of the Arnold Schwarzenegger film Commando. The two had to be related, I thought, because both were released right around the same time. And because the movie was such a huge blockbuster, it made perfect sense that some company would be eager to make a video game out of it. That's how it worked.

Also, I reasoned, Arnold's fierce rival, Sylvester Stallone, had his own game on the C64--a similarly themed top-down shoot-'em-up--so the "Commando adaptation" had to be Arnold's response to it. I mean, there was no way Arnold was just going to lie there and let Sly be the one to conquer this new market. Commando was surely Arnold's game.

I believed as much until as late as the mid-90s--until at some point I suddenly made a shocking discovery: The game had absolutely nothing to do with the movie! This became apparent to me when, for the first time ever, I read the text on the game's box; that's when I learned that the protagonist was not John Matrix but instead the unimaginatively named Super Joe (Capcom's ubiquitous mascot character) and that the game wasn't at all related to the movie. I was kinda bummed to learn that such was the case; without that link, I felt, the game lost a lot of its aura.

A few years later, I was shocked by another discovery: Commando, I found out, was the predecessor to Bionic Commando, whose events took place not long after. I thought this was strange because Commando's was a modern-looking setting (it could even be mistaken for a World War II-era setting) and Bionic Commando's was, I assumed, a "futuristic-looking setting."

"Bionic Commando deals in bionics and robotics," I was quick to note, "so how can it be close in timeline to a game whose weapons and technology are so very primitive in comparison?"

But it turned out to be true: In terms of storyline, the two games were indeed close in proximity.

I guess the Federation and the Evil Enemy Empire were facing budgetary issues during the earlier period.

I'll tell you, though: Ever since I made that second discovery, Commando has been an object of fascination for me. For that reason, it's earned a high position on my "Unfathomable Sequels/Prequels" list, which is populated with games whose relationships to other games feel surreal in nature. That's how I usually slot games of Commando's type--those that turn out to be somehow related to games or series that always appeared to be decidedly freestanding. We're talkin' about games like Bomberman, which has been said to be a spin-off of Lode Runner; the Nick Arcade fixture Parasol Stars, which I've learned is a sequel to Bubble Bobble; and Karnov, whose story, I was astonished to discover, occurs within the Bad Dudes universe (how surreal is that?)!

As do others of its type, Commando inspires me to wonder about its place in the canon. "How can a game that conveys this particular tone and features this style of gameplay be related to Bionic Commando, whose tonal and mechanical aspects are so disparate?" I try to determine. "And how, exactly, do its events lead into and influence the direction of the subsequent game?"

It's fun to think about.

It's just unfortunate that I haven't given the game, itself, that same level of attention. In truth, I haven't played Commando in a long, long time (not seriously, at least), and I'm sad to admit as much because I consider it to be a good game--in all of its incarnations; each of the versions I've talked about here offers a solid action-game experience. That includes the arcade original, which I've since come to like; when I decided to give it a fair chance, I learned that, actually, it looked and sounded pretty great and played well, too; I didn't recognize as much back then because I was behaving close-mindedly and actively looking for reasons to dismiss it--simply because I disliked the genre with which it was associated.

But, really, that's ancient history. Things have changed significantly since then. That unadventurous, close-minded kid is long gone, and now there's only me--the passionate enthusiast. That's why I'm here, in the year 2014, to say to you that I do indeed like Commando in all of its forms. It's truly is a classic. Sometime soon, I should make it a point to refamiliarize myself with it.

If it counts for anything, I did occasionally load up the C64 of Commando on an emulator; though, admittedly, I did so only because I wanted to listen to that amazing main theme! In a pre-Youtube world, that was the only way I could gain access to it. Otherwise, I'd sometimes stop by VGMusic.com and listen to MIDI renditions of both the main theme and the superb Game Over/Name Entry tune, an emotive piece that builds wonderfully and really touches the soul.

The C64 version's magnificent music, I've since learned, was composed by Rob Hubbard, a musical wizard who is best known for being the master of the C64's SID-based sound generator. He used his deep understanding of the hardware to produce some of the best, most-iconic chiptunes ever composed (including Monte on the Run's incredibly catchy theme). His work in Commando is simply outstanding; his rendition of the Commando theme, by itself, served to elevate not just the C64 version but the property on the whole. And he deserves a ton of credit for that contribution. His music drew people in and convinced them that Commando was worth playing. And I was one of those people.

So way to go, Rob. You did some fantastic work. I very much appreciate your effort.

Honestly, though, it's still a little disappointing to me that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle Commando--a cinematic masterpiece and one of the greatest comedies ever made--has never seen a video-game adaptation. Arnold's probably upset about it too. Right about now, I bet, he's thinkin' about all that money that's been left on the table, and he's putting together a plan to capitalize on the fan interest.

He's in his mid-60s and not quite as mobile as he used to be, yeah, but so what? Even at his advanced age, I'm sure that the brawny action-movie mainstay is just itching to right this wrong--to put in six months of heavy gym time and do all of the exhausting promotional work necessary to bring us a Commando sequel that will demand the video-game adaptation we've long been craving!

So how 'bout it, Arnie--are you ready to get to work on this project?

Arnold: "Negative." [looks at his flabby arms and the projected $400,000,000 production budget] "Terminator 3 was the last time."

Mr. P: "Until the next time."

Arnold: [looks at his agent and then at Mr. P and says...] "Noooo chance."

[We Fight for Love plays as Arnold walks out]

Oh well.