Shades of Resonance: Fond Reminiscence - Memory Log #24

Superman

In the early days, before video games took over my life, I had two interests that soaked up pretty much all of my time and attention: monsters and superheroes. I was passionate about both subjects. I was always writing about them, thinking about them, and using them as the basis for my art projects.

For most of my youth, though, my heart belonged more to superheroes. I loved them. I drew endless amounts of inspiration from them. In school, I was known as the "superhero" guy--the weird kid who would spend the durations of classes filling the back pages of his notebooks with drawings of superheroes from comic books, movies and TV shows.

My fondness for superheroes ran deep: I religiously watched the Super Friends cartoon and live-action TV shows like The Incredible Hulk and The Greatest American Hero. I loved the 1960s Batman series and watched its every episode multiple times. And I had dozens of action figures from the Super Powers Collection and Secret Wars toy lines.

I was obsessed with the action figures--particularly with DC Comics' Super Powers Collection figures. I was always sending my poor father out all over Manhattan looking for coveted figures that frequently appeared on the back covers of the figures' packaging but never seemed to show up in stores (I'm talking about those from the expanded-roster set: Captain Marvel [who, for some reason, was misnamed "Shazam"], Plastic Man, and unfamiliar-but-nevertheless-cool-looking characters like Cyborg and Mr. Miracle). He came up empty every time, and after a while, I started to believe that most of those figures didn't actually exist.

But I wasn't too bothered by that situation, no. After all: There were so many other superhero products out there and thus so many other ways for me to familiarize myself with amazing new superheroes--many of which, I was certain, would join Batman, Spider-Man, Darkseid and Daredevil on my list of favorites.

"But why has Superman's name been absent up to this point?" you ask with a curious look on your face. "Were you not a fan of his?"

Well, for me, Superman was a special case. How much I liked him depended upon the way in which he was being portrayed. I wasn't a fan of how he was presented in cartoons and comic comics; he was insanely overpowered and robotic in how he operated, and his being defined by such qualities made him uninteresting. But I was very fond of the silver-screen version of Superman. Christopher Reeves' performance, I felt, gave the character exactly what it needed; his portrayal provided Superman a strong human-feeling element and made his struggles relatable.

Christopher Reeves' Superman was more memorable to me than any other superhero I'd ever know. His was the quintessential superhero.

His terrific performances helped to make Superman and Superman II two of the most entertaining, most-rewatchable movies we'd ever known. Those movies were family favorites and always at the forefront of our Betamax and VHS libraries.

And those movies, more so than the cartoons and comic books, showed me who Superman really was. They showed me that he was mighty and exceptional, yes, but also fallible and prone to letting his emotions get the best of him.

That Superman was interesting to me.

And I was drawn to video games that used depictions of that version of the character--of the guy who Christopher Reeves portrayed in those movies. In the early 80s, I played the Atari 2600 version of Superman, which was released a few months after the Superman movie, on a regular basis. It was a fun game, and I enjoyed spending time with it (though, sadly, no one else seemed to like it).

And in the late 80s, I spent a lot of time with the arcade version of Superman, which also took some inspiration from the movie. It was one of my go-to games. Anytime I visited an arcade, I made sure to seek out the Superman machine and drop a few quarters into it. (It was always easy to find a Superman machine because the game was a mainstay in every arcade I frequented.)

The first time I inserted a quarter into a Superman machine, though, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know what game's story was going to be about or if it was going to have anything to do with the original Superman movie's.

Previously I'd watched the game's demo, but I didn't learn much from it. It gave me no indication as to what the plot was or which villain would be waiting for me at the end. "Is this game based on any of the films?" I wondered. "And if so, will Lex Luthor or Zod appear?"

In the game's intro, a generic-looking green monkey guy could be seen holding the Earth in the palm of his hand, but there was no way, I figured, that this guy was the game's main villain. He just wasn't interesting enough. He was too nondescript. So it had to be the case, I thought, that this uninteresting character was simply a minion and that the real main villain was instead someone more recognizable: Lex Luthor, Zod or even that electric dude from Superman IV (which I'll never speak about again after this point).

But suddenly, my conjecturing was cut short by an event that instantly seized all of my attention. It was the game's amazingly compelling prologue, which featured an incredibly rousing digital rendition of John Williams' Superman theme; it played during an animation in which Clark Kent changed into his Superman outfit while running across the screen. I loved the John Williams Superman theme. It was an empowering piece. Sometimes I'd pop in the movie just to listen to it and be inspired by it. That's why I was pleasantry surprised to see it reproduced here in such an appropriately stirring form (inexplicably, no other Superman game had ever used this theme).

"What an amazing opening!" I thought to myself as the game thrust me into action. That theme was the perfect accompaniment to the game's opening scene, which began with the geared-up Superman holding his fist in the air and getting ready to pound the besieging forces of, well, whoever the main villain was.

But in that moment, it really didn't matter to me who or what I was actually fighting. The game's incredibly rousing, inspiriting rendition of the Superman theme had me too pumped to care! I was content to let the empowering music, which was now reverberating throughout the entire arcade, guide my thoughts. I was content to let it fill me with energy and add powerful emphasis to every punch and kick I threw as I fought off the scores of yellow- and red-costumed goons.

For some reason, the opening stage's midpoint contained had an obstructive steel fence, and the game kept excitedly encouraging me to "Break!" it. I was perplexed by this fence's appearance because I wasn't sure how a simple fence could ever seriously obstruct someone like Superman ("Couldn't he just fly around it?" I thought to myself). Though, I was happy to comply with the game's wish if only to further fuel my adrenaline rush.

And the music grew even more stirring when I entered into to the stage's third area. At that point, it transitioned into the Love Theme part of the Superman theme and presented an exhilarating, vitalizing version of it. I got goosebumps as I listened to it (just as I did whenever that part of the theme would play during the movie).

I don't remember how far I got into Superman that day or how many quarters I dropped into its machine, but I certainly remember how its opening minutes affected me--how they were all I could think about during the ride home (my father came to pick me up after he finished whatever business he was engaging in). I was so in love with the game's music and visuals. For an entire week, they were constantly on my mind.

My future sessions with Superman confirmed something that I suspected the first time I played it: Its gameplay wasn't exactly amazing. Superman, I was disappointed to admit, was merely an above-average action game. It was good but not great.

But man its music was awesome! It, alone, made the game worth playing. Whenever I'd see a Superman machine, I'd drop at least one quarter into it and do so for the purpose of listening to and absorbing the energy of its music. I'd think about its music all the time and particularly whenever I'd start to daydream while riding around with my father; its wonderfully rousing rendition of the Superman theme was the perfect accompaniment to my daydreams, in which I was usually performing some type of heroic act.

And 27 years later, that music is still the first thing that comes to mind whenever I think about arcade Superman.

And like I said: It was a good game. I enjoyed playing it. The problem was that its action grew stale after about five minutes because it was too repetitive. This was disappointing because what the game had presented early on created the impression that it had great variety of gameplay--that it was the type of game that would continuously introduce new styles of action. Instead, disappointingly, it quickly settled into a predictable formula.

Each of Superman's five rounds had the exact same three-part structure: a horizontally scrolling fighting section, then a vertically scrolling fighting section, and finally a horizontally scrolling shoot-'em-up-type section in which Superman refrained from engaging in direct combat and instead blasted enemies and objects with eyes lasers and charge balls. And these sections rarely introduced anything new.

Really, the only thing that was different about each stage was the visual presentation.

The lack of enemy variety only compounded the issue. There were only three enemy types (and that total includes both minor enemies and bosses), and advanced forms of enemies weren't really that different from the standard forms; they just moved a little faster. So by, say, Round 3, the action was apt to grow exhaustingly repetitive, and by that point, it'd start to become obvious to you that there really wasn't anything new to see beyond the change in scenery, which was fun to look at early on when it was formed from breathtaking cityscapes and character-filled urban settings (one of which was home to a chain of Asian restaurants, which I always loved to see in side-scrolling action games) but not so much later in the game when it was formed mostly from dull mechanical structures.

I didn't get many opportunities to experience Superman's two-player action, but when I was lucky enough to get a friend to join me, I had much more fun with the game. Two-player Superman was a much more intense, visceral experience, and it had that quality because it was all about my pal and I frantically, fiercely pounding away at the control panel and doing so as if something real was on the line--as if our in-game failures would have serious real-life consequences for us. It was what made Superman's two-player action feel so exhilarating.

Also, the two-player option gave us the ability to send the "second Superman" into action. We didn't know who he was (our guess was that he was a simple reskin and not an actual DC Comics character), but we really liked his red outfit, and we thought that it made him look cooler and more gritty than the real Superman. And one day, years later, I suddenly had a mind-blowing realization: The "second Superman" was actually based on Captain Marvel--Superman's closest DC equivalent and a character with which I'd been fascinated since my Super Powers days. Those were his red and yellow colors!

By that point, I'd accepted that I was never going to get a hold of Captain Marvel's action figure, so I was happy to at least have the chance to play as him (or a close analog to him) in an arcade game. It was a nice consolation.

Superman was what I'd describe as a "sweet dessert." It was what we'd nibble on after we finished feasting on the main course--after we were done playing top-tier favorites like WWF Superstars, Double Dragon, Ninja Gaiden and the like. It was a solid, reliably fun action game, and thus its was the perfect machine to drop our remaining coins into when we were in the process of winding things down. It was the tasty little treat we liked to enjoy at the end. It was a game that could always provide us the quick, satisfying action-game experience that we needed to fully satisfy our hunger and make our trip home feel all the more joyful.

Superman was the type of reliable and complementary game that every arcade-goer needed in his or her diet. It had a role: to provide you some quality arcade action in those times when your options were limited--when you (a) only had a few quarters left and you wanted to play a game that could offer you four-five minutes of fun action per credit or (b) had already played through all of your favorites and were looking for some quick, satisfying action that could serve as a nice little capper to your arcade-going experience.

And it played its role well.

And what can I say about that music, man? It's some of the best arcade music in existence! I still love to listen to it. I do so because it's great and because it's able to evoke such wonderful feelings and memories. It always able to bring to mind images of my incredible first experience with Superman and remind me why I had such a deep love for arcades.

And I'm certain that it'll forever possess that power.