A Huddle of Huddles

I liked watching football more than any other sport when I was a kid. Part of that came from the dynamism of play, how it was possible for any team to score and pull ahead at any point during the game. What’s more, football helmets and gear looked cooler to a kid than anything baseball or soccer allowed. And I never played football in an organized sense, so the sport had the gravity of some arcane ritual involving first downs and wide receivers.

More than anything, though, I think I liked football because of the NFL Huddles.

Football teams had mascots since the league’s inception, but it wasn’t until 1983 that the NFL put together a line of plush toys and little rubber figurines called Huddles. Each represented a particular team, some more creatively than others. I’m not sure if they were sold in toy aisles or in the sporting goods section. I suspect they went to both. Huddles were aimed just as much at kids as they were at adults who wanted to festoon every inch of the living room with Chargers or Packers merchandise.

I bought one or two Huddle figures on my own, and my grandmother got me the rest as a birthday present. I suspect she nabbed them on the discount racks, as this was several years after their debut. Indeed, the Huddles didn’t last long, and praise for them is scant even on an Internet that finds nostalgia for Macron-1 and Food Fighters. They seem to have passed through the toy market without much attention, but they’re an adorable pop-culture collision of football and toys.

Just about every figure from line envisions the cutest possible mascot. Check out the scarf on the Jets icon, who sources tell me is called Jumbo Jet, or the whiskery visage of the Cincinnati Bengals Huddle. The Bears Huddle has a cocky, just-hanging-out pose, befitting a mascot who was just there to do the Super Bowl Shuffle.

Not every NFL totem is a creature, but the Huddle designers made even the drab human effigies stand out. The most inventive in the bunch is the New York Giants Huddle, who carries a club and a tiny football. The Kansas City Chiefs representative may be the most elaborately dressed, and I like how the Viking looks like an Asterix character. The paint jobs on the figures range from decent to downright sloppy, but let's remember that this was 1983 and the Huddles weren't expected to do Star Wars numbers.

Hailing from the 1980s, the Huddles are now out of date. There are no Carolina Panthers or Baltimore Ravens, and several Huddles have their old team logos. One of them, the Houston Oilers guy, no longer exits. His team became the Tennessee Titans in 1999. Something tells me that the Washington Redskins Huddle, or Reddy Redskin, will join this particular group fairly soon.

A close look at my collection also reveals that the Denver Broncos Huddle, or Bucky Bronco, has the most wear to his helmet. I played with him the most, as my love for the Broncos made him the obvious leader of the group. Who was the main villain? I don’t remember. Maybe the Giant. He’s the only one who looks remotely mean. Then again, I didn't play with Huddles the same way I enlisted Transformers or Ninja Turtles. I mostly just arranged them in their proper divisions and repositioned them as won/loss records dictated. Then I sulked when the Broncos lost the Super Bowl.

A few of the Huddles go the lazy route. The Cleveland Browns and the New Orleans Saints get identical twins in football gear, with only paint jobs to distinguish them. The Browns have used dogs as their unofficial mascot for a long as I can remember, so I'm not sure why their Huddle didn't follow that lead. The Saint is a tougher call. I’d suggest a papal ferula or a big halo for him, but that might be sacrilegious.

The NFL still makes merchandise for team mascots, but it’s not packaged under the Huddle brand. As far as I can tell, the line burned out in the mid-1980s, leaving only a few toys and some children’s books in which the Huddles battle the sinister machinations of Charlie Cheater.

Did the NFL forsake the Huddles too soon? With a little work, they might have stuck around long enough to earn a Saturday morning cartoon, a video game, or McDonald’s happy-meal spots. Perhaps they’re just the thing to distract young fans from the NFL’s current spate of scandals, tax-exempt privileges, and disappointed fans. We’re all a little more forgiving of controversies and losing seasons when they’re paired with a happy football-clutching dolphin.

The Finest Art of Gift-Giving

Did everyone have a good Christmas? I certainly did, and that was partly because of a wonderful present from a friend who prefers to be known as Magic Trashman. He’s an artist and comic-maker, and since he doesn’t yet have a website I’ll have to settling for linking to his DeviantArt page. For his gift, he seized upon an idle Twitter post I made years ago about bugging him to put canceled video-game characters into classic works of art.

I forgot all about that post, but Mr. Trashman did not. This past Christmas he sent me a framed portrait with this response on the back.

And what’s inside the frame? No, he didn't draw characters from canceled video games. He drew something better.

It’s wonderful. It repopulates one of the dogs-at-poker portraits with things I like. The brownish creature on the left is Quilli, heroic porcupine from Quill Quest. It's a video game I sketched out as a child (before Sonic came around, I swear). His fellow players should be more familiar, as they're from Mystery Science Theater 3000, Monster World IV, Darkstalkers, and my favorite shot of actor Billy Barty. Maybe there's even a Bounty Arms reference someplace. I'll have to look closely.

The table shows that Quilli is betting with power-ups from Quill Quest: a hamburger, a watch, and even a Mondo Magnet. Also on the pile is a Mighty Orbots figure, which mystified me at first. I’ve never been more than a mild fan of the show; it has some of the slickest animation ever seen in a Saturday morning cartoon, but even as a kid I found the robots dopey and irritating compared to Robotech or any Transformer. Upon investigation, I realized its purpose: a line of planned Orbots toys was never released, so it’s possible that someone, likely Crow or Tom Servo, put this ultra-rare prototype up as a gambling chip. How clever of the artist to include it.

Little Things: Tricky Kick

I suspect that Tricky Kick wanted to be obscure even by the standards of TurboGrafx-16 games. It presented a deliberately confusing front back in 1990. The title suggests a soccer game, but it isn’t. The “family” label suggests a party game, but it allows only one player. And the box art, with its cave-guy and samurai and schoolgirl standing on an eye puzzle, fits nothing so much as the cover of an unclassifiable prog-rock album with a title like Precambrian Odditure.

The Escherian topography of the cover hints at the truth: Tricky Kick is a puzzle game. Its characters advance through stages by booting an enemy, usually a harmless one, around the screen until it collides with an identical foe and vanishes. That’s about it. A few creative obstacles and enemy-launching gadgets pop up, but the game remains too limited, both in what you see and what you can do. It never gets even half as interesting as The Adventures of Lolo or Kickle Cubicle, but TurboGrafx-16 owners didn’t have much in that category. If they wanted to shove things around a screen with little threat involved, Tricky Kick had them captive.

The best parts of Tricky Kick have nothing to do with the gameplay. Each character gets a cute, short introduction and a unique setting: elven hero Oberon takes on an evil sorceress, schoolgirl Mayumi finds her way to her classmate Biff’s party (yes, Biff), a kid named Taro undergoes some haunted-house hazing, the feudal Japanese prince Suzuki schemes his way to rule the nation, and an Ultraman knock-off called Udon punts giant monsters around city streets. Oh, and a caveman known as Gonzo heads out to slay a big meaty mammoth.

Gonzo’s intro is my favorite piece of the game by far, due to its delightful vision of Paleolithic life. The matriarch of the family, in the absence of modern diapers, has swaddled her youngest child in her mass of untamed cavewoman hair. Gonzo’s eldest son takes after him, one of his daughters takes after her mom, and the remaining kids look like troglodyte versions of Charlie Brown…or Bonk, the bald cave-boy who became the TurboGrafx’s only respected mascot. In fact, we might be seeing Bonk’s origin right here! And maybe the purple-haired girl grew up to become Flare from The Legendary Axe or the mysterious assassin from The Legendary Axe II! It’s another point for the Grand Unified Theory of TurboGrafx games!

Most of all, I like Gonzo’s expression. You can see a determined grimace there in his beard, but a quicker glance makes it look like he has the smiling, noseless, innocent face of a Lego figure. I like that duality, even though Gonzo’s obviously not supposed to look upbeat. He knows that he faces a harsh task and perhaps a harsher return home. Should he survive his foray, he could come back to find that one of his children was snatched up by a Haast’s eagle, that his family was devoured by a sabertoothed tiger, or that his entire tribe was wiped out by an avalanche or some neighboring clan that just invented spears and genocide. But he can’t let anyone know that.

Interview: Fester's Quest

Fester’s Quest is a curious sight in the landscape of NES games based on movies and TV series. The Addams Family wasn’t particularly prominent during the late 1980s, and yet Sunsoft created a game all about it—and not just a predictable action game starring the members of Charles Addams’ macabre clan. No, Fester’s Quest is all about Uncle Fester fending off an alien invasion and rescuing Gomez, with the rest of the family popping up to provide the pasty hero with potions, whips, and restorative vises.

That alone would mark Fester’s Quest as an oddity, but there’s more to its reputation. It's one of the toughest NES games around. Tougher than Battletoads. Tougher than Ninja Gaiden. Perhaps even tougher than that Captain Planet game. Fester can take only two hits (four if you uncover secret health boosts), enemies are relentless, and defeat sends Jackie Coogan’s finest television role back to the very start of the game. It vexed children of the NES era to no end, and many hate Fester’s Quest to this very day. I don’t think it’s a bad game, though. It feels a lot like the overhead sections of Blaster Master, and it has that sort of hyper-catchy music that Sunsoft always pulled off in their NES games. Plus it gave us this!

A lot about Fester’s Quest puzzled me, so I went to the source. Richard Robbins was the game’s producer (and pretty much its creator), while Michael Mendheim served as designer as well as the illustrator for the game’s cover (and over a dozen other game boxes). Both went on to more popular things: Robbins worked on the Desert Strike series and Crüe Ball, while Mendheim was part of Battle Tanx and the Army Men series. The two of them also crafted the cult classic Mutant League Football. In fact, Mendheim and others revived it this year—check out the website! Before all of this, though, they were the minds behind Fester’s Quest

Fester's Quest has a strange premise for a licensed game. How did Sunsoft decide to combine The Addams Family and an alien invasion? And why make Uncle Fester the hero?

Robbins: I had a dream, literally, for a game called "Uncle Fester's Playhouse." Pee Wee’s Playhouse was airing then. We came up with the alien idea as a quest, to save the family.

The Addams Family seems to have been a fairly quiet property in the late 1980s. Why did Sunsoft option it for a game? Did they get it as a package deal with Platoon?

Robbins:  I was a huge Addams Family fan. I called Charles Addams’ widow Lady Colyton literally at a chateau in France and started a dialog. It took many, many expensive long-distance calls and a sort of romancing to convince this regal lady to let us do a game. Lady Colyton kept talking about a movie deal, which I thought was a bunch of baloney at the time. The Japan folks at Sunsoft were extremely skeptical and gave me a real hard time. They really questioned who would care about this really old weird TV show.  

Was Fester's Quest at first intended to be a license-free game, or perhaps a Blaster Master follow-up?

Robbins:  Fester's Quest was always to be an original. I wrote the storyline and named Blaster Master around the same time.  

Many have pointed out how Fester's Quest feels a lot like the overhead-view sections in Blaster Master. In a 2011 interview, Blaster Master creator Yoshiaki Iwata says that "The character designer for Blaster Master was also one of the main designers on Fester’s Quest, which probably explains some of the similarities there." Do you think that's the case, or do the two games share deeper roots?

Robbins: Same team developed both in the same lab.

How did you end up working on the game, Mr. Mendheim? What was it like going from drawing game cover art to designing  Fester's Quest?

Mendheim: Initially, I was an illustrator and graphic designer and my company did a lot of cover illustrations for games. I created some concept art for the game and then my role gradually expanded to helping design the product. I was an avid gameplayer back then but as far as game design I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. I had never designed a game and this baby was my first.  Richard Robbins provided a wealth of guidance and hand-holding on this project. He showed me the ropes.

We created a lot of top-down maps for the levels, based on similar games that we both liked. Once I started getting into it, it actually came quite naturally.

Was the game developed in Japan? If so, how did you work with the staff there?

Mendheim: Yes, all the game development was done in Japan. Back in the day, game development teams were very small, maybe six or seven people. I would receive builds in the US, which we would play and then write design and tuning notes back and forth. Every few months we would fly to Japan and communicate through an interpreter. One of the main areas of responsibility for us was trying to make sure the game stayed somewhat true to the Addams Family license. Culturally, the Japanese development team did not understand The Addams Family at all, nor did they understand the dark humor elements and this made it a bit difficult for us. However, everyone we worked with was very bright and kind. We all did the best we could under the circumstances. The game was on a very rapid development schedule so there wasn’t time baked into the schedule for much R&D or play tuning. The development was bang, bang—get it right the first time. Not the best situation to be cutting your teeth on as a first time game designer.

Fester's Quest has a reputation for being a very hard game, due to its tough enemies and a continue feature that sends players back to the start. What was your design process for the game? Was a password system ever considered?

Mendheim: Oh man, you had to bring that up! Not having a password system was all my fault—a complete and idiotic oversight. The save system was overlooked by me because we had debug codes in our test builds which allowed us to jump from level to level and save our progress during the creation of the game. This was NOT included in the final code because it was not included in my design document. When the game was in QA being tested by a Japanese testing company, they complained it was too hard and it soon became obvious to everyone that the game needed a save system. Unfortunately, there wasn’t time to implement save points and then have the game re-tested because of schedule constraints. The game was scheduled and budgeted to make its quarter and the publisher did not want to delay release, so after a well-deserved reaming towards yours truly, they came up with a marketing strategy that marketed Fester's Quest as one of the most challenging games ever made. That’s literally how they sold it. It was a terrible mistake on my part but the marketing angle helped sell the game and I learned from that mistake. Yikes!

Were you involved in making the European version of the game slightly less difficult?

Mendheim: No, but clearly they had time to fix the problem so they did.

In an interview with Complex earlier this year, you mention that Fester's Quest sold over a million copies. Did Sunsoft ever plan to make a sequel?

Mendheim: I’ll let Richard answer this one…

Robbins:  I left Sunsoft for EA by that time, maybe we would have had I stayed.  

The code for Fester's Quest contains graphics for one mysterious unused item and two unused bosses.  What were they? Was the game going to have a two-part final boss?

Robbins:  Not sure on this one, goes way back.

Mendheim: Yeah, I don’t remember this one either. I’m sure we had it in there but our dev schedule was really tight, so it was probably cut.  

How do you think working on Fester's Quest influenced your later games?

Mendheim: Fester’s Quest was design grade school for me, I learned a lot of things concerning how to develop video games, most of them being what not to do. The entire experience for me was new and took me completely outside my comfort zone. I did something I didn’t feel at all comfortable doing, made a million mistakes, but came through on the other side with a new passion. This game more than any other took me down the career path I have been involved in for over twenty years. It closed the door for me on graphic arts and illustration and opened the door for game development, which has been a long-term love affair for me. Thank you, Richard for giving me the opportunity.

Three Irrelevant Things About The Sega Saturn

The Sega Saturn turns twenty years old today, November 22. That’s going by the launch date in Japan and not the sudden and problematic American debut. No matter where you pinpoint the console’s birth, it’s a favorite of mine.

The Saturn doesn't get enough credit. The poor thing trailed the Sony PlayStation for nearly its entire life, and Sega never recovered from the damage done there. I had a PlayStation first, and yes, I liked it a little better. But I also bought a Saturn and realized how underrated it was. The Saturn had excellent ports of Capcom and SNK arcade games. The Saturn had weird, cool little titles like Burning Rangers and Sakura Wars and the Panzer Dragoon series. The Saturn let you play import games with ease. The Saturn turned me into a bigger game geek than I had ever been before, and it made me enjoy that.

Plenty of websites took a look at the Saturn this week, and you’ll see no shortage of recommendations when it comes to the system’s best games. It’s easy to find a rundown of just about every notable Saturn release. And I don’t know if I could really say anything new if I just went on and on about Darkstalkers games or Steamgear Mash or Last Bronx.

So I won’t. Instead I’ll discuss three things that I remember about the Saturn and its under-appreciated library. Not one of these things really mattered in making the Saturn a magnificent sleeper system, but they were important to me. That's what counts.

The Panzer Dragoon series is the best thing to come out of the Saturn's short career, and Panzer Dragoon Saga is the best thing to come out of the Panzer Dragoon series. It takes the dragon-flying concept of its shooter forerunners and turns it into an skyborne RPG where random battles are welcome, primitive 3-D graphics actually suit the Moebius-derived wasteworld, and the boy-meets-mystic-girl concept plays out with uncommon style.

Panzer Dragoon Saga was among the last round of Saturn releases, all of which were hard to come by unless you reserved them or lucked into discounted copies at Meijer or Toys R Us. Of course, I put money down. It was clearly worth fifty bucks. It spanned four discs—one more than Final Fantasy VII! It had dragons! And hey, what’s that little starburst on the cover?  

Everyone rapidly learns to distrust or outright ignore the breathless praise they see on movie posters and book jackets and DVD cases and video games. As a kid, I didn’t put much stock in any recommendation that wasn’t attached to Siskel and/or Ebert. In fact, I don’t think any piece of box-borne critical gushing really stayed with me, except for one: Next Generation saying Panzer Dragoon Saga was “unique, trailblazing, and wonderful.” Even if "unique" and "trailblazing" crowd together in their implications, something about the directness of the quote grabbed me.

The Saturn had the appeal of a cult classic. It was the loser system next to the Nintendo 64 and the PlayStation, but that just made it all the more scrappy and likeable. Most of the Saturn’s library wasn’t very different from other consoles; you had fighting games, racing games, action games, and role-playing games littered with mandatory clichés. Every now and then, though, the Saturn would have something that you couldn't get anywhere else. Something unique, trailblazing, and perhaps even wonderful.

The cover of Panzer Dragoon Saga is a jumbled and confusing collage. It’s strange how the dragon’s horn-helm goes behind Edge’s neck while the lower piece of it goes in front of Azel’s head. Azel has a fairly interesting look for a genre where heroines are usually conventional vixens or meekly beautiful waifs, but the box art does her no favors. At least that little orange firework and its poorly aligned text tell the unclouded truth about Panzer Dragoon Saga. Even if we don’t believe the overheated quotes we read on covers, we appreciate it when they’re right.

As I get older and try to create things, I sometimes daydream about what critical plaudits might appear on, say, my sci-fantasy trilogy about extraterrestrial barbarians who communicate by farting. The triple crown of “unique, trailblazing, and wonderful” would be nice, but I'd settle for just one of those.

Some people bought Saturns for Virtua Fighter 2, X-Men vs. Street Fighter, or NiGHTS. I bought one for Cyberbots. Capcom’s wonderfully animated mecha fighting game absorbed me when I caught it at an arcade test, and I was disappointed that I couldn’t find it anywhere else. But it came to the Saturn in Japan, and I knew I had to get one. Capcom wouldn’t bother with a U.S. release. Why should they, with the Saturn ailing and Cyberbots never a success in arcades? So I nabbed the import. It was the first time I’d bought a Japanese game, and the first time I’d bought the special edition of any game from any country.

The Cyberbots Limited Edition is very modest by today’s box-set standards. It has an artbook, a fold-out diorama, and a pretty box to hold them. My personal box is a little worn, but it's still intact. That includes the surprise just inside the flap.

It’s covered with little drawings of Capcom characters! There’s Sakura, being happy! And Zangief creeping out Ibuki while Mary Miyabi looks away in disdain! I’ve always liked Capcom’s characters and their propensity for showing up in unexpected places, and this is a precious example of that. It’s like a Capcom artist sneaked over and doodled on the box just for you. The elf puzzles me, though. I know my Capcom stuff, and yet I can’t figure out who he is. Ravel from King of Dragons would be my best guess.

Even the tiny flaps at the end have illustrations! One shows Poison, and the other has Sagat holding a Ryu doll. For those not up on Street Fighter lore, Ryu scarred Sagat's chest in a match, and now Sagat wants revenge. Yet Super Street Fighter IV shows a far more placid Sagat, one who views his rivalry with Ryu as a catalyst for personal growth. And here he’s clutching a stuffed Ryu. This means something. Perhaps he's going to avenge his handsome torso by selling Ryu toys and cutting his nemesis out of the profits. I'm sure Sakura would buy some.

My favorite professional Sega Saturn website was Saturnworld, a corner of what became IGN. It had little competition, but it was a comfort. Even as the Nintendo 64 and Sony PlayStation turned more heads, Saturn owners could take heart that their system was still important enough to have a full site with news, reviews, and even a section called “Hooked on Sonics.” Well, they could take heart until Saturnworld shut down in 1998. Before it signed off, I became a very small part of it by getting my opinion on the letters page. The site asked for everyone to spout off about a possible Saturn price drop. Here's what I said.

This was important to me back in 1997. I was slow to realize just what the Internet was, and I used it mostly for reading news and reviews. I knew there were forums and discussions groups and BBSes where you could post your own opinions, but I didn’t grasp that level of interaction. It wasn’t until game websites came along that I saw a thing I’d written right there on a website. I came up with a bunch of Top Ten lists for Ultra Game Players Online, and I thought it was pretty important that I spoke my anonymous mind about this Sega thing.

Reading it now, I’m amused at my naked enthusiasm. I wanted a Saturn, dammit, and I knew why. My eagerness fled in some cases: I didn’t like Shining the Holy Ark all that much, and Marvel Super Heroes and Virtual On were quickly eclipsed by other interests. I also find it strange that I talked up (and misspelled) Samurai Shodown IV. I don't recall being interested in it that much; I guess I just needed to think of an import title. Lastly, I was rather rude about the trio of free games that Sega offered: Virtua Fighter 2, Virtua Cop, and Daytona USA. They’re all decent titles, no matter Daytona’s glitchy appearance. I just didn’t care about them when Cyberbots awaited.

I kept my promise. Sega really did drop the price to $129, and I rushed to the local Electronics Boutique and annoyed some clerk who had just marked down the store's only system. I became a happy Saturn owner, and I never stopped being one.

Time of Eve-rors

Animation mistakes are inevitable. They’re also amusing. Some fans laughed over a braid whiffing through Elsa’s arm during that big musical number in Disney’s Frozen. Others got angry about it, and that was doubly hilarious. After all, such mistakes are everywhere, from gleaming cinematic treasures to those dollar-bin knockoff cartoons seemingly composted of nothing but animation mistakes. Mike Toole put up a column and a Tumblr dedicated to anime gaffes, and this feed shows us that you’ll find goofs in just about every big-budget animated film.

But hey, those little slip-ups seldom harm the story. A security guard’s misshapen arm or a magical schoolgirl’s chameleon eyes won’t confuse the audience that much. At most, a few kids might wonder why Brawn and Windcharger show up in the background of third-season Transformers episodes even though they died horrifically in the movie. Then their parents can explain that cartoons are not always perfect and shatter one key childhood illusion.

My favorite animation error comes in Yasuhiro Yoshiura’s Time of Eve, and it may be the only time that such a mistake altered the entire context of a scene.

Time of Eve, or Eve no Jikan, is a six-part series set in a future where androids can pretty much look human—so much so that they wear legally mandated hologram halos. The TV even runs commercials admonishing citizens not to fall in love with machines. Average teenager Rikuo notices some odd datestamps surrounding his family’s house-bot, Sammy, and he and his friend Misaki track the mystery to a café called Time of Eve. Inside, androids discard their halos and act like regular humans, leaving newcomers like Rikuo and Masaki unable to tell just who’s a robot and who’s a meatform.

The series twists through the guessing game with a gentle humor, wrapping character vignettes in awkward moments and upbeat music. It’s mostly a goof on the Asimovian ideals of robot behavior and society’s desperate attempts to keep its creations from being too much like the hu-man, and I almost wonder if there’s a point about women’s rights circling further down. Either way, it’s a great little series.

Time of Eve is also an Original Net Animation, a neologism for those anime productions that premiere online. Its look is clean and competent, but it clearly wasn’t given a movie's budget. So some animation gaffes happen.

One of Time of Eve’s android patrons is Akiko, who’s a gleeful chatterbox in the café and just another somber, dutiful drone outside of it. Rikuo and Masaki get their first surprise of the series upon spotting Akiko wandering their school with a 3-D halo over her head. At the end of the fourth episode, they spy her again as she walks past their classroom and grins almost imperceptibly.

As she plods down the hall, her hologram halo is gone. Masaki and Rikuo aren't shocked, but the same doesn’t go for Kayo, a classmate with a rather obvious crush on Masaki. She stands there, stupefied.

Upon this Original Net Animation’s first airing, some viewers debated: was Akiko deliberately messing with her fleshbag friends, or did the animators simply forget about her glowing headgear? Will Kayo report her for breaking a latter-day Law of Robotics? For answers, let’s check the final version of Time of Eve.

Yep, it was an animation error. Akiko wears her holo-halo in the final cut, and Kayo is now merely shocked at the implication that the guy she likes is more into robot women. Could be worse. He could be married to a dating simulator on his Nintendo 3DS.

The movie version of Time of Eve, having recently enjoyed a successful Kickstarter, also gives Akiko the halo. Strangely, it removes Kayo from the entire storyline. She’s mentioned only in a snippet of hallway gossip.

Of course, one can’t make too much of this. As with most glaring errors, Time of Eve’s DVD release fixed the mistake. But it’s the only case where I remember an animation glitch affecting narrative implications. So I’m justified in bringing it up, right? Right?

Oh well. If nothing else, it’s an excuse to talk about Time of Eve.

Cry On Over

No video game ever made me cry. Nope, not one. Many games get to me in some way, because I’m a big, sappy, hopeless mark when it comes to full-bore blasts of melodrama. Yet I have a hard time remembering any game, book, movie, song, comic, painting, sculpture, water ballet, or 15th-century Italian woodcut that’s brought me to tears. I suspect I’m just not built to sob over fiction and art. That part of me prefers that I just sulk around gobsmacked and despondent.

I don’t think I would’ve wept over Cry On, but I wish I could’ve found out.

Making us weep was, believe it or not, the goal of Cry On. Final Fantasy creator Hironobu Sakaguchi hoped that the game would make players cry, both in joy and sorrow, and so great was his ambition that he put it right there in the title. Cry On wasn’t a weird side project, either. Sakaguchi’s Mistwalker studio announced it late in 2005, with publisher AQ Interactive and developer Cavia on board. Final Fantasy composer Nobuo Uematsu signed up for the soundtrack, the illustrations came from Drakengard artist Kimihiko Fujisaka, and the budget hovered around $8.5 million.

Cry On promised more than wailing and rending of garments, of course. Described as an action-RPG, it showed a world not that different from a rudimentary Final Fantasy spread of medieval mythic scenery speckled with airships and other machine anachronisms. Here humans live alongside Bogles, glazed golems that transform from small totemic statues to fearsome giants. A particularly intelligent Bogle partners with the game’s heroine, a young woman named Sally.

Players were to control Sally, but the Bogle may have been the real star. According to interviews, the little ceramic gremlin would ride on Sally’s shoulder as she explores and solves those environmental puzzles that every action game demands somehow. Yet the Bogle would transform into its larger incarnation, changing its general form each time, and it could accessorize itself with rubble and other debris. The Bogle would handle much of the fighting, though Sally does have that knife on her.

Cry On never showed itself in public. When AQ Interactive announced the game’s cancellation in 2008, no one had seen a single screenshot of it. Magazine previews offered Fujisaka’s artwork and websites turned up further illustrations (some of which may not even be from Cry On), but the game itself remains a mystery. It’s entirely possible that it didn’t get far off the ground, that it existed mostly in planning documents and Sakaguchi’s imagination while the developer worked on other projects. Or perhaps it really did make all who saw it sob as though they were characters beholding a statue in an awful Randian fantasy series, and Sakaguchi decided to destroy it for the good of all humankind.

It’s true that Cry On came from developers unproven. Cavia, for one, has a sketchy catalog. Their licensed games are mediocre, Bullet Witch seldom sees praise, and even fans of the first two Drakengards caution people against actually playing them (though I think the second one is unfairly denigrated). Mistwalker was coming off two RPGs: Blue Dragon aimed for unremarkable kiddie fare and found it, while Lost Odyssey tried for mature territory and…well, it made it halfway. The short stories are nice.

I think there’s more to Cry On, though. For one thing, the concept sounds intriguing; it’s a bit like Majin and the Forsaken Kingdom mixed with Shadow of the Colossus. Maybe it's even a precursor to The Last Guardian. Besides, the names involved would do better after Cry On’s demise. Cavia had few good games behind them but a great one ahead. Their last release, Nier, is a roughly excellent action title with plenty of ideas—most of them good! Mistwalker improved as well. They turned to the Nintendo-backed The Last Story for their next big project, and I really enjoyed its fusion of fairy-tale plotting and quick, messy battles. If Cry On had been anything like either game, I would’ve liked it.

Did anything survive Cry On’s demise? Well, Sakaguchi really had a thing for crying around that time, so he worked it into his original plan for The Last Story. The heroine, Calista, is your usual half-meek, half-rebellious princess in the final game, but in the original outline she was blind and constantly shedding tears of blood. Sakaguchi changed that.

Something firmer emerged: Fujisaka became the go-to artist for Mistwalker projects after Cry On. He was the main illustrator for The Last Story, and his work is everywhere in Terra Battle, Mistwalker’s brand-new smartphone strategy-RPG. It’s surprisingly enjoyable for a game where one shuffles around character tiles to enact battles, and it does a lot within that simple interface. I’d discuss it further, but it’s free to play and doesn’t even bother you much about its paid extras. You can go try it right now!

Terra Battle also makes me wonder. Fujisaka drew a lot of fantasy staples for it: lizards, rock-people, beastfolk, robot spiders, giant scorpions, and of course, archers who wear revealing, full-length dresses into the thick of combat. One older gentleman, Jennish, even resembles Octa, the elderly horndog Disciple from Drakengard 3. Did Fujisaka sneak Sally and her Bogle companion into Terra Battle with a similar flourish? I wouldn’t mind if he did. Canceled games rarely get second chances, and I think Cry On deserved one.