Playing Mischief Makers was much like the time when, while on the mend from reconstructive foot surgery, I was hopped up on medical drugs and experienced vivid hallucinations where I belonged to a community of mole-people that revered Lynn Johnston’s For Better or For Worse as holy gospel. At the very least, it made just as much sense: not one of the game’s many episodic narratives operate on any level of coherency, gleefully shifting from self-referential wit to non-sequitur plot beats at the drop of a hat. Mischief Makers is an arresting fever dream much as it is a deeply-committed comedy, eccentrically haphazard without any regard to the player’s sanity, not the least in cyborg protagonist Marina and her core “shaking” mechanic: an inevitable temptation into anarchy that violates friend and foe alike.
Hence why it’s difficult to get a bead on what, exactly, turned me off. It’s easy to say that Mischief Makers’ pledge to absurdity frequently smothers its sense of telegraphy: from poorly-conveyed puzzles to spontaneous visual overload with explosions and enemy swarms galore, I cannot count how many times I was forced to consult a guide, let alone utter “but why?!” in the face of its many inanities. (Even in instances I wholly enjoyed, mind; dare not spoil the circumstances behind “Blockman Rises”, as I suspect is the case among the game’s impassioned clique, but know that I shook that small child with glee and was not disappointed with the results.)
Yet I recall how a close friend recently elaborated upon his lifelong confusion surrounding another early N64 game – Bomberman 64, a game that’s personally never invited contempt – and I can’t help but wonder if the culprit is none other than personal taste. I make no joy in proclaiming this: I often champion such obscure games, and with how Mischief Makers has the ingredients of everything I adore – inspired mechanics, absurdist comedy, obvious anime influences, and just being so gosh-darned admirable in carrying the two-dimensional torch within 3D gaming’s advent -- I balk at the thought: shouldn’t this be a game I’d wholeheartedly embrace?
But the high’s come down, and I’m forced to confront the frustrating reality that, alas, it’s all just a little too opaque; too impenetrable in its motives. I’d never dream of calling it bad even in the face of more tangible, grounded criticism – the controls never gel, many levels end right when the momentum kicks off, and the elderly professor’s “durr hurr pervy old man lusts after own creation” shtick is painfully outdated – but much as I want to dismiss Mischief Makers’ foibles and root in the corner of Treasure’s forgotten gem, I’m reminded that you can’t force yourself to fall in love. Such is the “in-club” language of cult games like these, I suppose.
Hence why it’s difficult to get a bead on what, exactly, turned me off. It’s easy to say that Mischief Makers’ pledge to absurdity frequently smothers its sense of telegraphy: from poorly-conveyed puzzles to spontaneous visual overload with explosions and enemy swarms galore, I cannot count how many times I was forced to consult a guide, let alone utter “but why?!” in the face of its many inanities. (Even in instances I wholly enjoyed, mind; dare not spoil the circumstances behind “Blockman Rises”, as I suspect is the case among the game’s impassioned clique, but know that I shook that small child with glee and was not disappointed with the results.)
Yet I recall how a close friend recently elaborated upon his lifelong confusion surrounding another early N64 game – Bomberman 64, a game that’s personally never invited contempt – and I can’t help but wonder if the culprit is none other than personal taste. I make no joy in proclaiming this: I often champion such obscure games, and with how Mischief Makers has the ingredients of everything I adore – inspired mechanics, absurdist comedy, obvious anime influences, and just being so gosh-darned admirable in carrying the two-dimensional torch within 3D gaming’s advent -- I balk at the thought: shouldn’t this be a game I’d wholeheartedly embrace?
But the high’s come down, and I’m forced to confront the frustrating reality that, alas, it’s all just a little too opaque; too impenetrable in its motives. I’d never dream of calling it bad even in the face of more tangible, grounded criticism – the controls never gel, many levels end right when the momentum kicks off, and the elderly professor’s “durr hurr pervy old man lusts after own creation” shtick is painfully outdated – but much as I want to dismiss Mischief Makers’ foibles and root in the corner of Treasure’s forgotten gem, I’m reminded that you can’t force yourself to fall in love. Such is the “in-club” language of cult games like these, I suppose.