It's difficult to think about my high school years. For as important as they were to forming me into the man I am today I look back on the teen I was with a lot of regret and embarrassment. I was a close-minded, stubborn, and sheltered kid that preferred staying in my own bubble of toxic comfort rather than accept the fact that I needed to grow both for my sake and the sake of others. Subconsciously I knew that something I had to give, I could tell that I had the power to affect the people around me no matter my intentions. And from there, I slowly changed myself to be better, kinder, more understanding. I may have been young, but I was no longer a kid. Funnily enough, that journey started in 2015 when I decided to join my school's theatre program.

It was that decision that brought me out of my comfort zone and into a greater world of community and art. One that introduced me to most of my closest friends in adolescence, friends that I still think about and occasionally catch up with all these years later. That's not to say that I immediately became better, that I didn't ever embarrass myself or act regrettably. I had to work to be better, and even when things got so bad that I'd wish for a total do-over, or even to just cast that world away for good, I managed to keep going. And that couldn't have happened without the wonderful people I met nearly 10 years ago.

It's hard not to feel reflective when playing this game. In it's short runtime Toby Fox's writing makes such a strong impact that feels so much more alive and tender than practically anything else you could compare it to. And that was clearly felt all over the world when the game dropped, it was inescapable. Replaying this game, for maybe the first time in my adult life, brought me back to that time; warts and all. And for as much as it hurt to remember the person I was, it was also cathartic to think about who I am now and be proud.

Hate to sound like a "I was born in the wrong generation" type but I would kill for the opportunity to go back to 2004 and experience, along with the whole world, just what video games were truly capable of. And it speaks to this game's quality that you can feel the weight of it's legacy within every moment. Similar to Super Mario Bros., Ocarina of Time, or Doom in that the entire medium would be unquestionably different had it not been made, but unique to those games is this game's sense of artistic completion. There's not one second that seems compromised, restricted, or just a couple steps away from it's true potential. Instead, it just feels whole.

There's nothing like Snake Eater, and perhaps there'll never be anything like Snake Eater (especially not the newly announced remake). But that's fine, because even now, 20 years after the game's release on the PS2, this shit is still life-changing.

Decently fun 3D platformer, especially for a dev team that is new this specific genre. It's very mechanical and even complex to control at times, but it allows for a very high skill ceiling that you need to actually work to hit. I'll admit that I had trouble at the start of the game getting a handle on everything, but after a while I really got into a groove and keeping up my flow in each level felt a lot more doable. It's genuinely gratifying how the game intrinsically rewards you for getting better. I do wish there was actual camera support, as I found myself struggling at landing my moves with some of the provided camera angles. But other than that, the game's pretty solid... but I'd be lying if I said that it left a truly strong impression on me.

I believe that feeling comes mostly from the game’s rather unappealing presentation. Visually the game has a very bouncy and defined art direction that is charming its own right (any of the 2D art can attest to this); but whether it’s the fault of the graphical limitations of being a smaller/less experienced team or something else entirely, I found the candy-colored plastic look to be quite ugly more often than not.

But the visual presentation being poor doesn’t just affect the character designs and general atmosphere as I found the actual level theming to be seriously underwhelming. With every new world I entered there was a sense of wonder that gradually dwindled once I came to understand that every stage would look and play roughly the same. There’s not a whole lot of distinction between the different game worlds beyond an altered color palette, and even less so between individual levels. Any variation regarding the assets and architecture between each stage is incredibly thin; the trapdoors, gymnast poles, bungee cables, bounce pads, zip-lines, and rotating platforms are no different at the end of the game than at the beginning (I remember the pipes in the penultimate were instead trumpets, but that’s about it). The lackluster theming might’ve come from a greater desire for total visual cohesion—with how complex the moment-to-moment gameplay can get, the last thing you want for a player to be unsure of how to interact with any given mechanical asset—but there’s definitely a way to not compromise the art direction for that goal.

“Gameplay is king” is a sentiment that is echoed constantly within the realm of gaming critique. And while there’s obviously merit to that point, I often find it reductive to focus on gameplay as if it’s the only thing that truly matters. Presentation, writing, music, etc. are more supplementary elements yes; but they all still work in service of the gameplay. It’s all important one way or the other as you’re not just blasting through a catalogue of shapeless mechanics, you’re experiencing a greater world. Nothing about it is unimportant.

It’s Summer 2005. I’m on my way to my grandparent’s place in Buffalo, New York. I’m crammed in the car with the rest of my family as we barrel through our 5 hour long drive. At this point I’m either yapping away about random nonsense or playing Yoshi’s Island on my silver GBA SP. But quickly something else catches my attention: trumpets. I look over to my brother and see him playing this game. I watch him run through Hoenn and experience a grand adventure as those iconic 32-bit horns sang endlessly. It was intoxicating.

At that moment and many times afterward I’d beg for him to let me try it, but he was territorial with Emerald. “No. This is my game. You’re not allowed.” This was common with many of the games we had growing up—Wind Waker, Sonic Adventure 2, etc.—but with those he’d eventually grow out of love and I’d take over the reigns after a short time. Pokémon was always different, however. Even though I’d eventually get my own game with Pearl a few years later, I had always felt more like an onlooker with the series more than anything else. I’d keep up with what they were doing from time to time, replay my own games, maybe dabble in the the newer titles; but subconsciously I always saw it as my brother’s game. It was special to him, and still is to this day.

It’s funny, though; no matter how much I’d distance myself from the series I still wanted more out of it. I wanted the connection that my brother (and so many others) had with this titan of gaming. In that sense you could say I was jealous of how engrossed he was, and even bitter that he restricted my access from such a young age. Sure I could’ve asked my mom for my own copy, or even played it behind my brother’s back; but again to some extent I felt like it didn’t belong to me. I was a passenger to the Pokémon, not a driver. And even now, after spending nearly 50 hours having my own adventure in Hoenn (and almost definitely spending more hours catching the remaining legendaries); I still feel like an outsider of sorts.

However, I’d absolutely be lying if I said that finally defeating the Elite Four after all these years of hearing their theme out of the corner of my ear many times as a small child wasn’t cathartic as hell. There’s something about the traditional Pokémon structure that just makes it all worthwhile in the end. Through all the bullshit, through all the grinding, through all the gnawing little grievances that would make me put down the game and nearly swear it off after playing for hours on end, there’s rarely a better feeling than seeing your team—that you personally raised from the early areas—inducted into the Hall of Fame. Again, it’s just intoxicating.

After years of poking fun at as well as being genuinely fascinated by this series I finally bit the bullet and decided to give the series a real try. And honestly at this point I find it really funny how the initial appeal of the series (as well as the current appeal for on-lookers semi-outsiders) is that it’s a Disney/Final Fantasy crossover when that’s all the least interesting stuff as far as I’m concerned. All the original characters and lore—for as ridiculous and complicated they can be—are easily the best stuff here. I’m sorry but I can’t help but be fascinated when Sora’s close rival friend gets possessed by an old evil scientist who goes on about “the Darkness” as a tangible source of power that can make its own keyblade in order to do his nefarious multidimensional deeds; cringe be damned.

Side note: fuck Atlantica but more importantly fuck that entire 30-goddamn-phase final boss that shit was entirely uncalled for.