Shades of Resonance: Fond Reminiscence - Memory Log #12

Megamania

In the 30-plus years that I've been gaming, one thing has remained constant: I don't like space shooters or shoot-'em-ups in general.

Though, I've never been able to clearly articulate why, exactly, that is. Whenever I attempt to do so, I usually fumble around and wind up doing nothing more than listing the symptoms that arise whenever I think about playing a shooter. I wind up talking about the feelings of apathy, boredom and dread that immediately begin to permeate my brain.

The long and short of it is that shooters have never been able to hold my interest. Seconds after I start playing one, my mind begins to wander, and consequently I lose all focus and get destroyed. And then I start to think, "How can I become good at a game that bores the hell out of me?"

Those are the moments in which I'm reminded that shoot-'em-ups just aren't for me.

So you might find it strange, then, when I tell you that there are some shooters that I hold in high regard. I adore Space Invaders, for instance, and when I was growing up, I spent many an hour playing Commando and Rambo on my brother's Commodore 64. These are games that I'd be down to replay at any time!

"But aren't you contradicting yourself when you say such things?!" you ask with a quizzical look on your face.

I don't think so, no. It's not a contradiction because, in their case, a more powerful force takes precedence. It's a force called "greatness." And as I've always put it: Great games transcend their genres. That's what the aforementioned games do. And that's why I'm able to enjoy them even though I'm not a fan of the genre they're in.

That's definitely the case with Megamania, the subject of this piece. Whenever I talk about games that drove me to realize that great games transcend their genres, I point to this one; it's always been my go-to on the subject. It's an Atari 2600 space shooter that I absolutely love. I just can't get enough of it.

That's why I'd like to take a moment to tell you about my experiences with it.

Now, if you've only seen screenshots of Megamania, your impression might be that it's simply your average Space Invaders clone. You'll likely be thinking to yourself, "This looks like nothing more than yet another unimaginative 80s-era vertical shooter in which a starfighter attempts to fend off a hostile army of neatly arranged, encroaching alien invaders."

And, well, I wouldn't blame you for thinking as much because it's exactly what I thought the first time I laid eyes on Megamania way back in 1982. "It's another one of those Space Invaders rip-offs!" I said to myself immediately after the action came into view. "How boring!"

Though, I soon learned, Megamania was only like Space Invaders on the surface. It took heavy inspiration from Space Invaders, certainly, but it wasn't a "rip-off," no. It rose above that classification because it contained a significant number of wonderfully unique gameplay elements and because it showed me that it was one of the genre's best.

Megamania didn't aim to deviate from the standard shooter formula, no. As per the norm, it challenged the player to endure through an endless number of increasingly frantic stages and thus earn the highest score possible. Though, it stood out to me because it trumped its contemporaries in just about every other area. It had the smoothest of controls, the most ideal attack options (you could guide your shots and rapidly fire shots by holding down the button), the most viscerally pleasing sound effects (its shot-connection sound effect was especially satisfying!), a rhythm that always worked to build and maintain a high level of intensity, and the most imagination-stirring cast of invaders a shooter had ever had.

Most importantly, it was so much more fun than any of the other shooters I'd played! It had a brisk pace (other shooters felt plodding in comparison), it was super-engaging, and its high level of controllability made me feel as though I was the most capable starfighter around!

Megamania was one of the best of its kind. And because it was, it quickly became one of my favorite Atari 2600 games. I played it all the time. I was constantly trying to improve my shooting skills and make it farther than I did in my previous attempt.

Megamania was addictively fun, and I just couldn't get enough of it.

A big part of the fun was our trying to figure out what, exactly, the alien invaders were supposed to be. We couldn't refer to the manual for answers (because my brother, as usual, threw the manual away seconds after removing it from the box), so all we could do was apply some imagination and come up with our own interpretations. Mostly we likened the aliens to commonly known items. We identified them (in order of appearance) as hamburgers, wafers, buggies, treadmills, onion rings, telephones, bow ties, and simple meteors.

What was cool about Megamania was that it didn't settle for merely increasing the enemies' speed of movement in subsequent loops. Rather, it mixed things up. It changed the aliens' colors, and it gave them new movement-patterns. So now the horizontally-moving type would attempt to throw off your timing by momentarily halting their movement before darting forward; and the vertically-moving type would shift about in unique ways and/or descend at different angles.

So in each loop, there were new things to look at and new types of challenges to overcome. And if you wanted to survive, you had to gain an understanding of the enemies' newest movement-patterns and counter such threats with newly created strategies.

This was extra-mile-type content. Other shooters simply didn't or couldn't take it this far. That's why they all paled in comparison to Megamania.

I played Megamania a lot in that early period, yeah, but I really got into it in the mid 80s when I found renewed interest in 2600 games thanks to the Atari 7800's backward compatibility (my aunt bought me the 7800 spontaneously as we were walking through an appliance store). At that point, my goal was to become a "Megamania master," and I figured that I could earn such a title by meeting the arbitrarily decided goal of surviving ten loops while concurrently reaching the 500,000-point mark.

The problem was that I could rarely make it past the fourth loop because its frustratingly evasive treadmills and berserk meteor storm would usually deplete my life-stock. The meteors were especially rough; they descended so quickly that I could never get a read on them or react to them fast enough. You know how you feel when you try your hand at Level 90 in Tetris? Well, that's what Megamania's entire fourth loop was like for me!

So, sadly, I was unable to become a "master."

Megamania had some additional depth. It contained a "difficult mode" in which the starfighter's rapid-fire ability was removed and its shots couldn't be guided. Though, I didn't see any appeal in such a challenge because it was built around putting limitations on the player rather than powering up the enemies. It basically turned Megamania into a boring Space Invaders clone--the very thing Megamania was endeavoring not to be. So I was happy to avoid this mode.

I preferred plain ol' Megamania. That's where the best content was at.

So yeah--Megamania provided me some great entertainment. I loved playing it. And I continued playing it until the very end--until the day our 2600 was retired to the closet. For more than half a decade, it remained one of my go-to 2600 games. And in that time, it taught me some valuable lessons. It planted some very fruitful seeds. That's why it's such an important part of my gaming history.

Am I ever going to return to Megamania as zealously as I once did? I don't know. It depends largely on availability (an Activision-focused 2600 compilation would be nice). If I see it, I'll buy it. And then I'll proceed to play the hell out of it, just like I did in the past.

And who knows--maybe then, I'll finally become a master.