July
1, 2004
The
shoot-em-up is just about the longest staple of videogames. If games
let you do anything, it’s shoot. Toaplan was the famed Japanese
developer that probably did more to advance the vehicle shooter
genre than anyone. With rare exceptions, shooters were all Toaplan
cared about. At their best, they focused with a laser precision
that probably hasn’t ever been bettered. Sadly, that’s
partly because this style of games are rarely made anymore. This
is a once-vibrant genre slowly headed for extinction.
I
can’t imagine why anyone who loves videogames would choose
to live without a handful of shooters in their library. These are
the very definition of instant-gratification, dazzling the senses
and fraying the nerves in less time than it takes to read most instruction
manuals. Casual players dominate the market now, and they want simple
games; not simple to learn, but simple to walk through. Toaplan
shooters cannot be easier to grasp – shoot or be shot –
but they require a skillful combination of reflexes and memorization
that punishes the casual.
There
are a string of classics created by Toaplan from 1986’s Slap
Fight to 1993's Batsugun, each brilliant and somehow
unique in its own way. Right in the middle of this pack lies Fire
Shark. A close cousin to other Toaplan titles like Sky
Shark and Twin Cobra, it features a bi-plane set against
waves of tanks, boats, cannons, and airplanes, over cities, forests,
oceans, deserts, and tundra. This isn’t a game that redefines
shooters in any obvious way, but each element is fine-tuned to perfection,
and retains a timelessness all its own.
Notice,
first of all, your weapons. You begin with a three-shot spread as
a default; most games would make you earn those extra bullets. This
gun can be powered up three times; the final weapon fires a massive
spread of bullets in a wide forward arc. The second weapon is more
powerful, but concentrated in a smaller wave in front of your plane.
This is in keeping with the shooter convention that balances weapons
between the weak-but-wide shot, the powerful-but-narrow shot, and
the wild card. But, never fear, the green beam takes up half the
screen when fully powered.
The
third weapon, the “wild card,” is one of the reasons
I love Fire Shark so much. It is a flamethrower, but no
ordinary flamethrower. It begins with one small column of flame
that instantly destroys anything it touches, and then two columns.
The third level is the pay dirt: two columns on each side, sweeping
side-to-side. Level four: yet another two flaming columns, now covering
your backside, sweeping and swaying. It’s a wonderful sight
to behold.
And,
yet, here is what really makes Fire Shark a classic shooter:
it retains a sense of fairness and challenge. Owning the most powerful
guns hardly guarantees an easy victory through the game’s
ten stages; as the game progresses, you’ll be literally deluged
from all sides, and no matter how many times I played through over
the years, I could never remember just when and where everything
would pop up. There’s always some damned plane that’s
going to hit you on a blind spot, sooner or later. You will get
shot down, and start all over; and you will still have more than
a fighting chance, even against the massive bosses.
There’s
never been a more balanced shooter as far as I can remember. Ever.
I can’t figure it out, why other developers have to choose
between making it easy for the fully powered-up player, and making
it hard for you when you lose those weapons. Thunder
Force 3 couldn’t do it (too easy). Aleste
(all 350 of them) couldn’t do it. Gaiares sure as
hell couldn’t do it; that game’s too hard even with
all the power-ups. But Fire Shark has that balance, and
it will never be done better.
Consider
the enemy armies pitted against you. Tanks maneuver across terrain,
following in formation, or sometimes just spinning in the sand.
Trains will follow across a maze of tracks, as hidden cannons pop
out of nowhere and disappear again. The boats sail in packs and
always with air cover. And, of course, there are those planes. Most
shooters would have planes travel a single-file line (ala Galaga
and Gradius); the planes in Fire Shark swoop like
crazed hawks, in straight lines, in waves, in cross-patterns, in
every conceivable direction. It’s all such wonderful chaos.
The
arcade original is good, but the definitive version of Fire
Shark is easily the 1990 Sega Genesis version. This was released
just as the Genesis was reaching its stride, and remains just about
the best shooter ever released on that wonderful console. The game’s
graphics show such a sharp attention to detail, and terrific variety,
throughout. Here’s another great game that remembers the pointless,
little details. Notice the tiny, animated soldiers that await you
at home base between each stage. In one moment, another plane crashes
during takeoff. In another, one soldier breaks formation to watch
you land; try not to chuckle when the Sergeant berates him.
Let
us also pause to remember the thunderous, booming explosions, and
that magnificent soundtrack. Here is one of the great guitar scores
that made the Genesis the envy of many during the 16-bit era; that
little black box could really churn out the sounds when in the right
hands. It certainly owes something to ‘70s AOR rock; a little
Blue Oyster Cult, a little Who, a little Zep. The original arcade’s
audio is lost to emulation, possibly forever (the arcade’s
custom audio board has never been cracked), so this is another reason
why the home version is superior.
I’ll
close with one final virtue to bestow upon Fire Shark:
you can play the game forever. Once you complete all ten stages,
once the credits have rolled, you play through the game again, on
a harder (and I mean HARD) setting. This is really the thing that
made Contra on the NES so perfect; you’d think this
would be standard-issue for every console videogame. You’d
be wrong. |
