In his video last year regarding context sensitivity, Matthewmatosis opens by describing Ghost Trick as entirely context-sensitive: the main action button ("trick") always performs a different action depending on the item possessed. However, he points this out as an exception to the trend of heavy context-sensitivity weighing down modern titles, because simply put, Ghost Trick uses context-sensitivity not as a crutch, but as its core. It never seems to suffer from fuzzy context: the game not only gives you plenty of safe time to experiment with set-pieces leading up to timed sequences (since untimed traversal to the victim is every bit a puzzle in itself), but also briefly describes the single "trick" of each object possessed to give players an idea of how to progress. Furthermore, Ghost Trick's difficulty hits a perfect sweet-spot: it doesn't feel free because traversal and manipulating objects to your advantage require a good degree of planning and experimentation, but failure also never feels too punishing because other characters and the environment are great at providing thoughtful feedback upon failure, so the player isn't just banging their head against a wall via quick restarts at built-in checkpoints.

Essentially, it's like playing the ancestor of Return of the Obra Dinn but with a time loop mechanic attached. The objective remains simple (travel back to four minutes before death to avert fate), but how to achieve said objective is always completely dictated by your surroundings. As a result, it naturally iterates upon its basic structure to create more unconventional scenarios: soon you're not just manipulating objects for traversal and foiling assassins, you're also solving locked room mysteries, or traveling to different environments to save victims from elsewhere, or diving into deaths within deaths to avert multiple fates at a time. Through all of this, Ghost Trick understands one of the key strengths of video games: creating virtual playgrounds of experimentation unsaddled by the limitations of time to reward players through the joy of discovery. The player is constantly surprised time and time again not only from unexpected object interactions, but also from how the narrative weaves in and out of death sequences to create suspenseful moments. It's a minor miracle in itself that the story never jumps the shark: the gameplay mechanics remain firmly consistent alongside its lore, and every plot thread is neatly wrapped up by the end of the game after a series of subtly foreshadowed twists. Combine this marrying of storytelling and gameplay with expressive animations, a colorful and very personable cast, an understated yet powerful soundtrack, and a great mix of humor and emotional moments, and you get what is perhaps the most cohesive title in the DS library.

It's rather poetic that a game which looked simple on the outside provided such an intricate exercise for Shu Takumi to prove that he was no one-trick pony. I'm grateful that Ghost Trick has finally been ported to modern systems for a whole new audience to lose their minds over this, for it's a masterpiece that everyone owes to themselves to check out. At the end of the day, nothing feels quite as cathartic as miraculously changing destiny in the face of inevitable death.

This past week I made a trip to hang out with some friends an hour down the road, and something we do almost every time I come over is plug in the modded Wii and fuck around with whatever iso catches our eye. This two day event was no different: Monday night I banged out the last third of Resident Evil 4, and the next morning; huddled around the TV looking for something to pass the time with, I tried Pikmin on a whim. My memory card was full from last night’s adventure so I could only get a taste of the adventure at the risk of losing a massive amount of work, but even from the 3 day sample we tried, I could tell it was something special. Everything about it was attractive to me, from the Nintendo-spun RTS mechanics to the peculiar world they inhabited. I knew when I got home from that trip that I had to sit down and really sink my teeth into the game.

Funny enough, Pikmin has actually been a bit of a white whale for me personally. As a kid playing Luigi’s Mansion for the first time, unearthing the Pikmin trailer felt like peering into something beyond our world. It always looked like something I’d be into, but fate was not kind to my interests, and I never got my hands on a copy. Though maybe in retrospect I should have actually asked for the game once or twice… Regardless, I finally sat down to play it as an adult, and predictably it was absolutely wonderful. What I didn’t expect was that I’d go on to play through the game 3 times to completion within the week. Looking into it online it seems like the length of the game, and by extension the 30 day time limit, seem to be the biggest point of contention amongst most players. This is peculiar to me, as in my experience I found it to be the glue that prevented the game’s systems from completely collapsing in on themselves. That’s not a sleight against the mechanics though, and I do want to shine a light on the actual game part because I feel like it gets overlooked when looking at the game from the outside.

Every layer is razor sharp, and the few massive pieces of design interlock so well to allow for interesting strategy puzzles, that removing or adding just a single piece would likely send the whole thing crashing down. Across a single day there are only a few major things to keep track of: The Pikmin population, part locations, level layouts, and enemy spawns. It’s all disgustingly simple on paper, but contending with everything at once is where the magic really happens. Efficiency is the name of the game here, and because tasks have to be performed in real time by the Pikmin (with slight time saves coming from the number of Pikmin on a task and the status of their bud), a strong grasp of level navigation is all but essential to prevent massive time and population losses. Some weeks I’d play simple and juggle basic tasks to nab a part or two a day, whereas other times I’d find myself playing more towards chipping away at level hazards one day, and then cleaning up with 3 or 4 parts in a single stretch the next. It’s a testament to the complexity and density of the admittedly small levels that even after multiple reasonably efficient runs, I still couldn’t even begin to chart out anything resembling an optimal path to get parts as quickly as possible.

So how about the timer? Well, it's maybe not a direct threat in the way the developers intended. On a first playthrough you have more than enough time to collect all 30 ship parts and get the best ending (on my first playthrough with minimal resets I managed to beat the final boss on day 27, and collect the final part on day 28) and you’ll likely continue to shave off time with every subsequent run, so on paper it may seem like it the timer may as well not be there at all, right? I’m not convinced.

The reason I find the time limit to be such a captivating piece of the puzzle is not because it’s a particularly challenging thing to work around on its own, but for how it shifts your perspective on every mechanic and every choice you make over the course of a run. If you took this exact campaign and all it’s challenges, but lifted the 30 day timer, the way you’d approach each level would completely flip on its head. Multitasking would be unnecessary as you could execute a plan as slowly and carefully as possible, you would have all the time in the world to plant the maximum amount of Pikmin for any one scenario, and the punishment for mistakes shifts from added tension and short-term changes of plans, to simply robbing you of more of your time. In layman's terms, removing the timer would probably miss the point.

It’s been said that people tend to optimize the fun out of something if given the opportunity. In the case of Pikmin, this has completely different insinuations depending on the existence of a timer, and that’s what makes it such a fascinating inclusion to me. No matter how well you understand the game, no matter how sharp your execution is, it doesn’t matter. The timer is always looming overhead like an albatross subtly weighing on your psyche and steering your every move. Some may view it as something that just restricts player freedom, but with how loose the balance of the game and the timer admittedly are, it somehow perfectly balances itself as an element of the game that always subconsciously keeps the player in check. Few titles before or since have promoted optimisation in the face of a looming failure state so well, and this coming from a Nintendo game of all things could very well steer younger audiences to explore more games of this niche, and I just sorta love that prospect honestly.

This type of psychological tension is something I wish would be explored in more inherently childish games like this, and not just reserved for “mature” games. I sorta understand why this hasn’t been a common design principle - especially for a modern children’s game - but I love that the Big N was willing to put something like this together with their own flourish and have it come out so perfectly realized despite being such a bizarre mismatch of aesthetical and mechanical sensibilities. It would be easy to call it just a tech demo given its compact size (and it’s literal roots in GameCube tech demos) but that would be a mistake. The original Pikmin still stands as one of Nintendo’s boldest games to date, and I think it deserves to be viewed in the same glamorous light as every other masterpiece released on the purple lunchbox at the time. We need to do our best to cherish this game now, because I think the time of its potential influence and popularity has already begun to fade.

While going through Warioware: Touched! last year, I had my fair share of criticisms, mainly that the game felt somewhat trivial since every microgame was some form of poke + drag (or in the case of the mic games, just yelling til I won). On a surface level, it would appear that the other major Nintendo minigame collection series, Rhythm Heaven, falls into the same trap, since every game appears to be tap and flick, but I don't find that to be true. Quite the opposite in fact, as Rhythm Heaven DS is extremely challenging, yet super satisfying and fair.

Rhythm Heaven succeeds where I think Warioware: Touched! falls flat, because the former is much more subtle about mixing up devices to introduce an organic difficulty curve than the latter. Every minigame's gimmick is conveyed via some combination of call & response, memorizing rhythmic motifs, and recognizing appropriate audio & visual cues. This difficulty then gets ramped up, both within minigames and throughout the game's progression, by introducing new or different elements that alter how the mechanics are presented and utilized in some fashion, but ultimately retaining the core fundamentals. For instance, you might have to play "in the dark" for certain sections of minigames and rely heavily upon audio cues, or have to deal with sudden (yet firmly telegraphed) tempo shifts with tougher rhythmic variations, or even shift the backing melody or player actions to the off-beat to keep the player honest and in-tune with the minigame's workings. This, combined with the simple yet realized controls of tap, hold, and flick (lending itself naturally to syncopation from tap/hold + flick alongside quick note playing from tapping) allows for a much more robust toolkit and strengthened intricate designs for a broadly diversified minigame ecosystem. Even if all these different rhythm games revolve around the same theme (i.e. finding the natural flow and beat in simple and often mundane tasks), they all manage to stand out from one another despite seemingly simple controls because the rhythms at which they are executed from one another can be so drastically varied and iterated upon.

The attention to detail is especially evident within the remix microgames at the end of each five game minigame chain. These finales add a fresh coat of paint to the previous four microgames (and once you get past the initial 30, sometimes even more than just four) and putting players' execution and knowledge banks to the test while ferrying them between the different concepts with ease. There's an overlying melody to the whole affair, just played with a different filter for each specific minigame type, and moreover, they're linked in a way where the players can recognize the carried-over beat and be in specific positions where they're ready to quickly adapt to the new control scheme. For instance, consider Remix 8: the ping-pong into vegetable slice looks intimidating at first, but once you realize that swiping the paddle in the former has the exact same rhythm as swiping to slice vegetables in the latter, then it's merely a case of recognizing the visual/audio disguise and maintaining your composure. Another example that comes to mind is within Remix 10, where there's a section transitioning from the snowboarding minigame to the choir kids' Glee Club. Normally, you'd think that there would be some issues immediately flashing into Glee Club, since you can't possibly know what's coming up without prior experience and not holding your stylus on the screen will result in your Choir Kid automatically singing as per the control scheme of hold and release to play notes. However, this is accounted for with the lead-in snowboard minigame, because the last few frames of that section telegraph a jump, which requires the player to hold down the stylus on the screen and then flick and release. Since the jump hasn't occurred yet, the player should still be holding down, and this transitions naturally into the Glee Club's neutral state, where they can then release the stylus to the telegraphed beat and proceed onwards. It's little moments like these that make all the different jumps between previous minigames feel seamless, and transform the remixes into challenging, yet extremely fulfilling victory laps.

My only outstanding complaint is that certain minigames require considerably more accuracy and precision to master than others, and are often far more finicky about their timing requirements without obvious visual/audible feedback regarding slight misses, which can make repeated plays for that Superb/Perfect ranking a bit obnoxious. Glee Club and Moai Doo-Wop 2 are two of the more infamous culprits, to where some users have even created strategy guides. I can certainly relate, as it took me over 8 tries on Glee Club to snag a superb before I realized that the tight timing during the quick notes in the middle of the track was the section that was stumping me, since being off by just a hair there doesn't result in the other Choir Kids giving you the stink-eye. As a related aside, I did have a bit of difficulty with Rockers 2, since this minigame introduces the use of the L/R button as a whammy bar and feels a bit out of place, being the only minigame that doesn't exclusively use the touchscreen and forcing me to bend my left hand around to access the button. That said, I'll choose to chalk that one up to a skill issue since the unlockable Technical Guitar Course afterwards gives you plenty more opportunities to get used to this mechanic. Regardless, I find Rhythm Heaven to be a very honest and approachable set of minigames despite the level of mastery often required, and I can easily see myself coming back to this one to spend more time honing my skills. It's a complete and realized package that's truly the epitome of doing a lot with very little, and I eagerly look forward to testing my mettle with the remaining games in the series.

Holy shit, what an absolute joy of a game. This is perfectly up my alley, instantly snappy movement, simple controls but a lot of skill involved, single screen and arcade-like. The levels here are so creative throughout, it could have gotten away with so much less, or with reusing concepts more, but there are amazing level concepts that are used once in a level you can beat in 10 seconds and I love that. The pace of this was enthralling and kept me going through the whole thing in one sitting. The last world in particular was a blast, it does get tougher but it's not just a challenge of existing ideas, it breaks all of the rules and pushes the game to its limits. Damn, what an awesome surprise this was. Go play this right now.

we live in a society where power and structure are against us, always; if not with intent (though it often is), then by design, by circumstance, by unspoken nature.

to cope with this contradiction between personal and social justice, between objective truth and constructive outcomes, the ace attorney trilogy lays out a commonly found but powerfully stated thesis:

the most important thing we have is other people, and supporting each other through active love and active connection is sometimes all we have against hostile and generally unchangeable circumstances. the power of these connections won't always be able to do miracles. But if we don't lose sight of them, and we trust them, and they're reciprocated, though they can't get us out of hardships or injustices, they can get us through them.

The Truth isn't just Objectively What Happened here. The truth is our convictions, our notions, our willingness to embody our ideals, and our trust in our loved ones to do the right things and/or trust us in return.

it's a pivot towards the personal over AA1's relatively straightforward delivery of the world and 2's critiques of the systems that fail victims and protect even the smallest and most banal systems of power, which still bring ruin to the people under them. i think that pivot is a necessary rounding out and payoff to these ideas. the system isn't going to change, but we can't just abandon it, or more specifically we can't abandon each other to die in it.

so those are my Very Serious Thoughts About Themes but i also think this game just fucking slaps dude. the play isn't innovated at all over Justice For All but it IS further refined; this gameplay loop is so clean you could eat off of it. investigations finally condense themselves to reasonable lengths and uniformly follow sensical progression paths. the worst recurring characters are entirely absent here and the ones who do show up are all at their most likeable and well-integrated into the cases. the midgame filler case, bar one deeply offensive and (perhaps more importantly) annoying guy, is actually funny and fun. the game in general and especially the localization are at the height of their powers in terms of Serious Thematic Writing AND Comedy here, imo. godot is a great example of this; he's a bizarre guy even by the standards of this trilogy, with like three different quirks, any of which could easily define a lesser character, but all of which are funny and good. the first time he slammed his hand down on the table and a coffee mug slid into it from offscreen i was hooting and hollering. AND he's a character with a lot of depth who offers a direct thematic counterpoint not only to phoenix but to the prosecutors of past games as well. the music is at a series high too, a HUGELY NOTICEABLE improvement over JFA.

the game is firing on all cylinders and easily the best of the trilogy. this could have been it and i would have been happy, but there's a lot of this world that could just as easily be further elaborated on thematically, and what little i know of the second trilogy i'm excited that it seems like they're gonna go in interesting directions.

to the best of my knowledge, character movement exists within giant state machines dictated by the player input and the properties of any current collision. if you touch a slope, transition to sliding state; if you press the jump button, transition to a jump state unless you're sliding or etc. etc.. in those behind-the-scenes tales of miyamoto meticulously testing mario's movement in low-poly sandboxes during sm64's development, these state transitions and their corresponding kinematics values were the real meat of the tweaks on the programmers' end. "let's make the flip jump transition available even before the turn animation begins, also if mario jumps onto a slope less steep than X degrees maybe we could try giving him a few frames standing or moving to give the player some time to jump again, also if you collide in the air with a slope steeper than X degrees make sure you don't add horizontal momentum when you transition to a slide" these are just ideas off the top of my head and don't represent the actual code, but this is how I conceive of it. the character is a tightly tuned system that functions as a simulacrum of real movement, realistic where our brain wants it and exaggerated where our hands desire it. code with the model ingrained into its logic teeters the line between pretty and messy, and sm64 perhaps got the closest in its era to actually getting somewhere with this system.

sunshine unfortunately lacks this level of polish. mario's main movement feels tighter and more responsive than in the game's predecessor, but at the same time the introduction of fludd and of dynamic object geometry strains whatever was in the previous character state table. accordingly mario feels at his most chaotic in this entry. floating into a slope could result in him suddenly sliding away with no ability for the player to break out of his helplessness, or a rotating platform could cause mario to stutter as the line between "flat" and "slope" becomes blurred. mario will legitimately phase through objects on the rare occasion he doesn't clip in and out or plummet out of the sky having lost his jump. this distinct lack of polish (likely due to the game's rushed development) pervades each aspect of the game.

second-to-second these movement quirks will likely be the most apparent issue to the player, but zooming out reveals level design and structure indicative of the game's troubled history. immediately out of the gate: no star (or rather "shine sprite") requirements, with the first seven shines of each main area now mandatory and the rest completely optional and pointless outside of bragging rights. the seventh shine of each is a brief shadow mario chase that varies little from location-to-location, leaving just the first six of each area as notable challenges. so how do these stack up?

many of these (at least one per world) are obnoxious "secret" stages that steal mario from the sunkissed vista of isle delfino and drop him into gussied-up debug rooms. the level design here mainly consists of a few half-hearted platforming challenges made from hastily-assembled generic blocks slapped together with a smattering of coins and 1UPs, and none of them are very fun. the rotating objects that mario must ride in a few of these especially aggravate that previously-mentioned unstable character state table, and mastering them requires a frustrating level of practice given how unnatural the physics of these sections are. of special note is the infamous chuckster level, which involves having mario awkwardly thrown from platform to platform over death pits with restricted influence from the player. talking to each chuckster at a slight offset will result in getting thrown at angles that will often result in certain demise, and learning how to best exploit them again requires more frustrating practice in a stage that should be otherwise brief. all of this is exacerbated by the fact that you have no access to fludd, leaving mario with solely the sideflip and the spin jump. these are good moves in their own right, but I can't help but miss a low-and-long movement option like the long jump, or potentially a high vertical option that doesn't require the control stick shenanigans the sideflip/spin jump necessitate.

removing all of the secret stages (of which there are ten) and all of the shadow mario (of which there are seven) yields just 32 unique shines as part of the main game. some more categories of stages quickly become apparent:

sunshine is often criticized for its number of red coin stages, and while the postgame adds one to each secret stage along with a couple other optional ones, the main game itself features just five. the windmill village and pirate ship ones are more traditional platforming challenges, and I'd say the windmill village one is a solid exploration of the titular area in bianco hills. the pirate ship one is frustrating given the difficulty of staying put on the actual pirate ships, but the majority of the red coins are on climbable grating and are much more straight-forward to obtain. the coral reef red coin challenge revolves around sunshine's spotty swimming mechanics (questionable for a game with such a focus on watery environments) and ultimately boils down to a game of I Spy with a fiddly camera. there is also one using the rideable bloopers in ricco harbor (I often failed this one after collecting all the coins by crashing into the pier with the shine on it, which surprisingly enough didn't kill me playing on the 3DAS version), and one that takes place with the underwater scuba controls within a large bottle, which I can't really say is particularly interesting given how few obstacles there are in your way.

boss stages appear frequently throughout each world to little surprise from players of sm64 prior. bianco hills features petey pirahna, whose mouth must be filled with water before he spits sludge at you. his first fight is pretty on-par for what I'd expect from a first boss fight, and his refight is pretty similar with a couple little additions, such as flying about the main area and creating tornados (?). gooper blooper appears no less than three times throughout the game and severely wears out his welcome by his noki bay appearance, although this is proceeded by a legitimate platforming challenge that makes up for it. of note is that his first two ricco harbor appearances are virtually identical except for that one fight requires one extra spin jump in order to reach the arena. wiggler, mecha-bowser (who you fight with rockets from a rollercoaster car), the manta, king boo, and eely-mouth all have singular fights throughout the other worlds that generally are the better shines of their respective worlds. they fall about on the level I would expect from a 3D platformer: not necessarily enthralling, but decent diversions from the actual platforming.

there are also three il piantissimo races akin to koopa the quick from sm64. I would say some of the latter's races are somewhat challenging, whereas the former's chosen routes leave a lot to be desired and thus can easily be thwarted by anyone with a reasonable understanding of the controls. they unfortunately feel like 30-second throwaway shines. there is also a time attack on the rideable bloopers with a couple minor obstacle that seem pulled right out of the secret stages.

all of the above shines removed from the total, we now have 13 shines left. in theory these are the "interesting" objectives, the ones that would hopefully pop up when reminiscing about what made this game special. when I look at this list, the first one that pops out to me is sand bird... the infamous filter for many new players, including myself when I first finished this game. this stage actually involves collecting red coins, although this objective is somewhat auxillary considering the first seven can be scooped up in less than 15 seconds and the final one can't be reached until the bird that you stand upon finally reaches the top of the tower in the middle of the area. rather, the main obstacle is simply that the bird rolls 90 degrees, releasing you into the ether if you don't scramble over onto the bird's side before it completely rotates. learning to correctly time mario's walk over the edge between the different faces of one of the bird's many cubes (I usually do it at the tail) is entirely unintuitive and unforgiving. once it clicks, the stage becomes an auto-scroller without any point or challenge, as it has the last couple times I've played it. there is no sweet spot in the middle where the shine feels obtainable with some effort; it either feels insurmountable when you're first trying it and then rote on each subsequent playthrough.

this describes a lot of these remaining shines unfortunately, especially when it comes to the proper platforming challenges in each stage. the caged shine sprite in ricco harbor atop a large structure of steel girders caused me to tear my hair out initially with the wind sprites that assault you, requiring a full tower reclimb; on this attempt I forgot the intended path and instead skipped about 60% of the area with a well-timed spin jump. the runaway ferris wheel stage in pinna park had the same result for me: on my original playthrough I struggled greatly with the electrified koopas and their unpredictable movement cycles, whereas on this playthrough I skipped past the entire top half of the climbable grating with another spin jump, making the challenge moot. simply knowing the movement tech completely obliterates the challenge, and yet I feel obligated to do it because without using it I'm thrust into the jank. the same goes for those who know how to use the spam spray: timed slime-clearing levels such as the one in sirena beach are incessently precise without knowing how to shotgun your water blasts, but once you do they become pointlessly easy. simply knowing discrete strategies or moves renders the game moot, and thus there is no linear difficulty curve. between my first playthrough and now there is simply a void where a fun game should be; never has sunshine felt like a accessible trial to be overcome. there is simply a gulf between aggravation and tedium.

this is to say nothing of the hub, the optional content, the one-of-a-kind environmental throughline, hell, even fludd itself. it just all feels... slight in its rushed nature and uneven scope. levels are expansive but exploration is heavily discouraged given how scripted many of the individual shines are, and on this playthrough I felt like I missed entire swaths of each level. new fludd abilities or yoshi aren't given bespoke unlock levels such as in sm64, and instead simply are dropped from even more shadow mario chases. the plaza hub does come to life more and more as the game continues, but compared to peach's castle it lacks progression even as it opens up new challenges (among which are the particularly infamous sunshine levels everyone discusses like pachinko or the lilypad death river). the one thing that keeps me going is that sense of locality that few other games of this era can point to, that feeling of seeing the ferris wheel far off in the background of another stage, or the hotel delfino off in the distance. no other game I can think of attempts something so drastically removed from typical delineation of themes between areas like sunshine, and it's a shame that it jettisons a lot of its potential by flooding the shine list with these dripless special stages in a floating void.

in many ways I don't see sunshine as truly mechanically paired with 64 as the "collectathon" mario games. in fact, I don't think 64 was even intended as a collectathon as we understand them today; instead its explorable areas feel more like opportunity seized from technical restraints preventing true linear platforming challenges from really succeeding. sunshine attempts to move more in the latter direction, without the same sense of non-linearity or potentiality that arose from 64's seeming vastness at the time. in this regard it feels more like an ancestor to galaxy; galaxy is hatched from the egg of sunshine, something with the same genes as 64 but woven within a new form and flesh. it may have even been genius in its own right had it not been hastily released in an attempt to bolster the gamecube's faltering performance. in another way it's the reverse of much of nintendo's modern "meh"-tier output: full of soul but completely unpolished.

impressively, all of sonic team's greatest minds have come together to fuck up remastering already great ports of 30 year old games


if you'd love to pay five dollars for expansive day one content such as... the characters moving in the menus, then this is the game for you. integer scaling? fuck you. everything is blurry, play at 320x224 for the authentic Sega Genesis experience. shitty DRM to protect these untouchable, pirate proof genesis games? check. do you like your games optimized, because we don't, god bless whatever rig you're using because it won't get past the title screen. high quality audio? nope, it sounds and loops like shit. also we couldn't get the sonic 3 songs back so here are awful rearrangements of the prototype tracks that sounded fine lmfaooooo. welcome to the museum featuring NEVER BEFORE seen content such as youtube.com sonic mania adventures part 2. it's a 2d platformer but sorry! you're not allowed to bind anything to arrow keys.

you get the idea. somehow, this isn't all of it. sucks because somewhere under the slew of baffling decisions and technical issues is a great collection, but I suppose sonic being run through a shit filter a few dozen times is par for the course now. better versions of these games exist already via Sonic 1 Forever, Sonic 2 Absolute, Sonic 3 AIR, and Sonic CD Restored, but if you want to play the last two legally, you're probably out of luck - because both sonic 3 and CD have been delisted.

at least the cutscenes are boss

although in reflection it may seem most of the game is trapped in kinda good territory, JFA’s sincerity still shines through in every case. while the first game was a nostalgic journey set on becoming a lawyer, JFA is more concerned with the struggles that come along with being a lawyer, for better or for worse. in its stride to distinctively continue the Phoenix Wright saga, it falters and reclaims its balance many times but it does so earnestly, and eventually reaches the apex that is Farewell, My Turnabout.

“The end justifies the means, Mr. Wright. The end justifies the means.”

SPOILERS FOR CASE 3 OF ACE ATTORNEY 2

Coming right off of my Ace Attorney 1 replay and just loving that game to death, I admittedly had some preconceived thoughts about Justice for All. I was under the impression that it was merely a subpar follow-up to the original game whose only notable addition to the series was the revered Farewell, My Turnabout case. Having heard these thoughts repeated ad infinitum, I was genuinely not looking forward to getting into this game. I even dropped it just under a year ago after getting less than halfway through the second case because my ass was just not feeling it. I will say, dropping the game was probably the best choice I could've made for maximizing my enjoyment of it, because I was in a much more receptive, accepting mindset towards it this time around. I stopped being a sheep and just played the game hoping I'd at least be entertained. And coming out of it, I can say that I was more than just entertained.

With all that setup in mind, how does the game actually stack up? Well, in many places, this game has both the best and worst shit I've seen in the series up until this point. A game of highs and lows, if you will. And frankly, no case in the entire game exemplifies this idea to such an extreme extent and my experience with JFA as a whole, better than the notorious Turnabout Big Top case, which is why I want to focus in on it specifically, as opposed to going in chronological order of each case.

I had heard so much bad stuff about this case before starting it that I was honestly a little nervous that this would be another point where I might consider dropping the game for almost a year again. I had thoroughly enjoyed the previous case and was hoping I wouldn’t share the complaints I had heard other people have for this next one. And for the first half of the case? Most of the complaints I had heard rang absolutely true and THEN SOME. Turnabout Big Top starts off with an unbearably long low point that lasts all the way throughout the first trial day. Now, Ace Attorney is known for having wacky, zany, over-the-top characters, and I’ve always considered that to be one of its strengths that makes it infinitely charming to me. However, this case officially takes it all much too far. The client for this case, Maximillion Galactica has a neat design, but good God, after more than a few minutes of interacting with him, I just wanted him to shut up. He attempts to feel “flashy”, but all of that flash just burned my eyes out in frustration at how flat of a character he actually was. You could replace him with a stock image of a lamppost and I genuinely think the case would greatly benefit from it. And don’t even get me started with how he (and one other character) is lusting after an actual SIXTEEN-YEAR OLD. Like holy shit, how was I expected to want this guy to be anywhere other than prison? Need an alternate ending where Phoenix, after finding this out, purposefully helps put him in jail where he belongs tbh!!!!!!

Anyways, Max is ass but the next character I want to focus on is Ben the Ventriloquist. He is an equally worthless character who tries too hard to have some charming gimmick with his puppet and ends up being yet another uncomfortable personality in how he’s a grown-ass, 31 year old MAN trying to marry a fucking 16 year old girl. And honestly, I generally try to look past shit like this in stories if there’s at least decent writing behind it, but the whole love triangle between him, Max, and Regina feels so out of left field, unnecessary, and crammed in your face that it’s impossible for me not to ignore. His whole puppet schtick was extremely unbearable as well. I never found him funny or entertaining in the slightest. These two characters are possibly my least favorite in the series by a wide margin. They’re an attempt at charming, wacky characters, but they both fall flat on their faces by being so genuinely unlikable and irritating.

Those two are at the core of most of my issues with this case because the entirety of the plot surrounding them was inherently brought down by their mere association. The actual mystery at this point in the story wasn’t doing me any favors either as most of the first day dragged its feet, feeling less like a mystery and more like a washed up, unfunny circus routine (which I suppose is fitting).
My enjoyment of the series had never been lower, and I even considered skimming through dialogue just to get past this tedious, unbearable case.
But then something really strange happened.

Turnabout Big Top

Got good.

The difference in quality between the first and second days cannot be understated. For the most part, the terrible characters I mentioned before have very, very little screentime. And the characters that actually DO get focus are not only compelling, but genuinely emotionally gripping, incredibly charming, and actually likable. Moe the Clown, a character that initially caused me the same level of irritation as Max and Ben due to his eye-burning design and unfunny gimmick, became a surprisingly touching character when all he wanted was to help Regina come to terms with her father’s death, rather than allow her to stay in blissful ignorance. It was a turn for his character that I didn’t expect at all, but it helped elevate my emotional engagement with the case and him as a character, so I’m all for it. And speaking of Regina, she was pretty much the only character introduced in the first day of the case that I actually liked. She was a bit of a brat, yeah, but I could tell that she meant well and she was absolutely adorable. It was abundantly clear that she lived a spoiled, sheltered life, but I couldn’t help but feel for the poor girl in spite of that. Her father had just been killed, but she hardly seemed to really comprehend the gravity of that fact. While she was undoubtedly a very “cute” character, it’s the juxtaposition of that and this undercurrent of somberness that was prevalent in most of her scenes that really helped me connect with her. And finally, we have Acro the Acrobat.

What a phenomenal killer.

Like no other killer before or after him, Acro stands tall as possibly THE MOST tragic and sympathetic character in the series up until this point. In contrast to the previously over-the-top characters, Acro instantly stands out from the moment we first meet him. He’s not some loudmouthed, unfunny CLOD like most of the others, he’s gentle and soft-spoken, with birds sitting with him on his wheelchair highlighting the tranquil, calming energy that his personality gives off. Despite this, there’s this general feeling of sadness that pervades all of his scenes, much like Regina. This gives the two of them a sort of connective tissue, as their role in the story would become more pronounced as it reached its climax.

Acro brings a lot of emotional depth to this case that I haven’t really felt with other killers in this series, even the best ones. He’s possibly the most unique killer the series has seen yet, thanks to his heartbreaking circumstances and understandable motives. He’s just a broken man who lost everything because of one girl’s naïveté, but he understandably cannot bring himself to forgive her for it, despite knowing deep down that what he wants to do is wrong, without doubt. It is a very mature idea for this series to tackle and I think it’s an incredibly “human” concept.

Even if it’s not on the scale of outright murder, there do come times where someone wrongs us in ways that we simply cannot reconcile with, even if it was unintentional on their part. Sometimes we’re hurt so profoundly by someone that it can make us someone we’re not, we lose the ability to understand, to empathize. Blinded by hatred, Acro ended up accidentally killing the man that meant the most to him. The man that gave him and his, now comatose, brother a chance when everyone had abandoned him before. He not only hurt himself in doing this, but wrongfully took the father of an innocent young girl who could barely even comprehend what had happened.

And when it’s finally time to corner him in the trial, and Phoenix exposes his crimes, there’s no twist “unmasking” where he reveals that he was actually crazy the whole time and laughs maniacally while cursing Phoenix for foiling his plan.

All we get are tears.

A sea of tears from a broken man who couldn’t let go of his hatred and heartbreak. Tears from a broken man who couldn’t find it in himself to understand the person who hurt him so much. And in his sadness and newfound self-hatred, he’s taken away, forced to think about what he did for the foreseeable future, with the audience never knowing for sure if he’ll find peace.

What a special, special character.

THAT is how you write a compelling, layered, and emotionally-investing antagonist. He has a sympathetic, sufficiently-explored backstory that informs his motive, and we may not agree with what he does, but we can certainly understand his actions as a result. These certainly aren’t the only way to effectively write an antagonist, but I cannot sing Acro’s praises enough, he almost single-handedly flipped my view on this case.

After the dust settles, Regina, after watching all of this unfold, is unable to continue with the blissful ignorance that had defined her character at the beginning of this case. She weeps, she shouts, she blames herself for what happened, and still has trouble wrapping her head around it, but she can finally begin to accept what happened to her father. And with that, the process of healing can begin, and she can grow as a person as she plans to right her wrong, and this most intriguing case can finally end on a hopeful note.

When all is said and done, Turnabout Big Top ended up being the biggest surprise in the game by far. A difficult case to truly explain my thoughts on. One I vehemently hate and undeniably love in equal regards. It truly had some abysmal lows that I absolutely cannot forgive. The characters in the first half, the mystery being nonsensical for the most part throughout (even in the second half), and don’t even get me started on the annoying ass cross-exam where you lose health JUST FOR PRESSING MOE. I can 100% understand why someone would look at this shit and say this is the worst case in the whole trilogy.

But at the same time. I respect and appreciate so much of what that second half manages to accomplish that I can’t, in good faith, agree with the majority of people here.

And that’s kind of how I feel about this game as a whole (just to a much less extreme extent). There were times during some of the cases early on that felt a bit padded or aimless. The music of the game is a noticeable downgrade from Ace Attorney 1’s soundtrack, I feel. But similarly to how I feel about TBT, I really do believe that the highs of this game are more than enough to make up for its unfortunate missteps.

Franziska might not have the complexity that Edgeworth did in the first game, but she’s still a damn entertaining prosecutor with a great design that I thoroughly enjoyed arguing against. Speaking of Edgeworth, his return in this game was everything I could’ve hoped it would be. Picking up right from where he left off in the first game, it truly felt like he’s grown and matured as a person, cultivating an ideology that shakes Phoenix to his core. And how could I forget that last case that everyone RIGHTFULLY hypes up so much? It is quite confidently one of the finest stories this series has produced yet. Boasting a deliciously devilish villain that caused my jaw to hit the floor on multiple occasions, the most urgency, tension and suspense in an AA case so far with how it was a constant race against time, and an unbelievably satisfying finale that had me out of my seat and on the brink of tears at every step (while also giving Franziska some much-appreciated development).

So all in all, I left Justice for All incredibly satisfied and impressed, thankful to have stuck with it through to the end. Because I don’t care what anybody says, this is a good ass game and a worthy sequel to the first.

Recommended by Sonique as part of this list.

It's a name so iconic it's transcended its arcade roots: Donkey Kong. The classic tale of Italian vs Primate, and the shenanigans that ensue henceforth, involving barrels, sentient fireballs and lots of ladders, and for the first four levels of Donkey Kong (94'), you're lead to believe that this handheld replica is more of the same, until DK gets right back up when the game should be over and flees to the big city with Pauline in tow. A single cutscene shows you the bread and butter gameplay loop: bring the key to the door to advance. Thus does 94' reveal itself not as duplication, but as evolution.

The arcade philosophy is one that was largely bred by circumstance, of technological limits and economic goals: to make the most of what you have, you encourage replayability, skill, and mastery above all else. It's a philosophy considered niche by most but lives on in many forms, from character action games to the entirety of the shmup genre, but it has an unlikely relative in the puzzle genre. Puzzles may not have the replayability aspect due to the inherent oneness of the solution, but they emphasize similar values: skill and mastery. Learning Puyo chains in Puyo Puyo, or spacial awareness in Tetris, the idea of having a foundation that requires skill and knowledge for the player to fully expound upon. In this sense, the evolution of Arcade to Puzzle-Platformer in 94' is the best possible step Nintendo could have taken with the idea.

Making a handheld game inherently changes the game design philosophy you approach a project with, and this is where 94's strengths truly shine. The levels are all relatively bite-sized, with time limits rarely going over the three-minute mark, always focused on the main goal of bringing a comically-large key to the locked door in each level to progress, and are always clustered together in groups of 4 (3 regular levels and a fight against DK himself) before allowing you to save your game. Each cluster of levels is capped off with a cutscene that showcases a new mechanic that will be used in the next level cluster going forward, most of which lift directly from older Donkey Kong entries, from the hammers in the original arcade title, to the vine climbing mechanics of Junior (and even the appearance of the little rascal to annoy you from time to time). 94' is always introducing new mechanics, new level structures, new gimmicks to play around with and test your puzzle-solving abilities all the way until the very end, where it unfortunately falters by turning into a precision platformer gauntlet (not an inherently bad idea, Mario controls great and is about as nimble as he would be in 96's Super Mario 64, but it really downplays the strengths exemplified in the earlier worlds).

94' is a masterclass of handheld game design, a prime example of a pick up and play title that would inspire both future series such as the Mario vs Donkey Kong series (an obvious spiritual successor to 94'), as well as other puzzle platformers that would come down the line, and it's clear with titles like Donkey Kong 94' why Nintendo is considered one of the best when it comes to platformer game design.

nintendo's R&D1 began experimenting heavily with the form of the platformer with wario land 2 and 3: each games that attempted to remove typical fail states by making the protagonist invincible and able to acquire temporary abilities after touching specific enemies. while bold puzzle-platformers and generally excellent 8-bit titles, they still hewed close to typical loops of gameplay centered around replaying sections of stages until a goal state is achieved, thus nullifying the practical effects of the absence of player health or damage. their first title on the gba seemed to recognize this and shifted its rejection of form to averting the traditional mario-chartered methodology of building challenge and design iteratively over the course of the game by instead abruptly shifting focus and mechanics between levels. while rooted in the idioms of the prior two wario land entries, WL4 was flippant in how it approached challenges based on these predefined player mechanics, and it rejected both the narrative cohesion of WL2 and the rich environmental persistence of WL3 in favor of rapidly defying player expectations with incongruous level concepts and its frog pillar mechanic that required the player to quickly reevaluate the level in reverse once reaching its endpoint. thus began a trilogy of standout GBA titles where R&D1 deconstructed commonly-held design principles of gaming in order to produce shocking, absurd, and creative experiences.

warioware inc. is where that absurdism really comes into its own. at its root much of gaming involves the player applying their intuition based on real-world experiences to in-game conflicts using a built-in toolkit. games that deviate too far from logical or sensible principles may be seen as obtuse, while games that lean heavily on a player's knowledge of genre conventions may be considered "gamey." warioware leverages this intuition application as a reflex-based game of skill: recontextualize your understanding of the goal state and your toolkit, and do it so fast and naturally that it becomes automatic. that single word or phrase projected at the start of each round instantly locks the player into that goal state, and within an instant of seeing their surroundings they should understand how they can achieve that goal and what the interface may be to perform the actions required. shake a dog's paw, pick your nose, shoot down aliens, match the shape, catch the baseball, chop the block, collect the mushroom, count the frogs, jump the hurdle, dodge the arrows. in the collection of these instances and all others present in the game, the vast breadth of human experience is discretized and miniaturized into flashes of memory. this game is tailor-made to fire as many different synapses in rapid succession as possible.

surrounding this genius distillation of the gaming experience itself is this eccentric framing device of games themselves, mass-produced and advertised to you through the screen, or veering into real-life alternative gaming experiences than the one in your hands as you work your way through the game. aptly the game presents its user interface as a mock desktop, featuring the loosely-connected sets of games into neat little folders for you to work through. each character presents their own idiosyncratic narrative to their gaming experience; my favorite of the bunch is dribble and spitz's Taxi Driver homage that translates the endless neon corridors to a sloshy windshield and a fuzzy car radio, with games flying at you through the haze. they drive their passenger (supposedly you) to the sea, where they proceed to turn into a mermaid and dive into the depths, much to the driving duo's delight. other stories range the spectrum from kat and ana's downright traditional journey through the floors of a shiro to mona's frenzied pizza delivery route where she kills pursuing cops by the dozen.

on its own these pieces would be sufficient for something truly interesting, but warioware elevates the experience through a natural high-score mentality and drive to keep the player engaged and toying around with all of the content. many more microgames unlock in the post-game, where you can endlessly play a character's collection until you run out of health. although your first playthrough of each will end at the boss stage, these boss stages serve as cycle-enders in repeat attempts, where new cycles push the difficulty higher for each individual microgame. suddenly the context you understood for a given microgame is purposefully subverted to further test your reflexes and/or patience. as the speed increases and the microgame flow becomes more hectic, what seemed like cut-and-dry microgames become sweat-inducing tests of pushing that intuition-swap ability to the peak of its potential, and in the process rewiring your brain every precious couple of seconds.

I'm able to gush so thoroughly about this debut in particular because I feel no later entry ever managed to top it. beyond this the warioware series became nintendo's playground for testing out their array of control gimmicks, and thus the games themselves became entirely beholden to the constraints of those input methods. while I imagine their goal was to deepen the interactivity with each microgame, the limits of waggling a wiimote or tapping a screen choked that incredible spark of creativity that they exhibited so genuinely here. the gamepad is already universally the understood abstraction of choice of varied gameplay mechanics, and R&D1 tapped into our inherent connection to it as gamers to make something that not only celebrated games as a form, but refined it to a microscopic, perfectly shaped pearl.