China Warrior was commissioned for the boys in marketing so they could slap a generic Bruce Lee clone onto a TurboGrafx ad as a showcase of visual splendor. Undoubtedly it worked on a few kids, this imposter who ranks up there with the Bruce Li’s of the world kicking and punching monks who are color coordinated.
It’s a wonder what these robed monks are actually doing to Bruce Le… err, Lai, err, something. They just sort of casually walk up to Brucey and cause increasingly fatal injury. Maybe they’re like the missionaries in Airplane! and slice him up with pamphlets.
Monks are not the only treachery in China Warrior, this brave soul facing down insect hordes, rolling rocks, and rocks thrown by someone so far away, they never actually appear on screen. It’s a wonder why the New York Yankees never signed the rock thrower from China Warrior.
Armed with the most basic of kung-fu, or whatever the developers at Hudson could cull together from late night Honk Kong exploitation marathons, non-Bruce is so precise and fierce, he can knock out a fly mid-flight. Never mind wind sheer that would probably send the insect off-course first; this is Bruce Lee as if Chuck Norris were playing him. Or is it that Chuck Norris was Bruce Lee? Internet memes make it so confusing.
China Warrior is one of the worst things to happen to the Turbo in its lifespan, taking the Altered Beast principle and running with it. In other words, a hardware showcase with zero imagination and even less playability, a moniker shared by Battle Arena Toshinden a few short years later. There’s some novelty here, clone Bruce portrayed with physical damage which makes it appear as if his appendix is falling out, and wildly kooky boss battles that never really connect.
No, seriously, the hits never connect.
For the most part, Mr. Lee’s actions have a modicum of sensationalist impact, monks being hit so hard that they fall from the ledge of this single plane actioner. End level combatants have their own rules, sort of like two kids arguing over whether or not one was shot in a cowboys & Indians session. Feigned punches and whiffed kicks happen at the will of the programming, not the skill of the player. The latter would make too much sense to China Warrior’s design.
If you’re still struggling to envision this clumsiness, imagine one of those dated Tiger LCD games, the ones in the late ’80s, early ’90s that translated all exceptional franchises into condensed form. Most of those had more technique than China Warrior. Some of those even made more sense, Hudson’s anemic take on Kung Fu trotting out enemies who earn their color based on their abilities.
One can imagine a monastery with conversations that go something like this, just prior to a vow of silence:
“What is your ability, son?”
Well sir, I can duck.
“Green cloak. Next!”
I can aimlessly walk straight.
“Ugh, another one. Gray cloak.”
And that sums up China Warrior’s grand fail in a nutshell.
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Combatribes has always felt unfairly ostracized for doing things in its own way, shuffling the beat-em-up into contained arenas where the street level fisticuffs almost feel comfortable. It’s where this type of combat feels involved and even natural, forcing the issue with little wiggle room or space as broken bottle-toting bikers or enraged gang members make their rush.
It’s hilarious to see Nintendo’s patented friendliness applied though, bowing to the more conservative who find the sight of blood repulsive, yet mounting a clown to smash his face into the pavement is given a thumbs up. Coulrophobia suffers unite here apparently. Technos’ arcade version almost gleefully let the blood drip (even from the clowns), which admittedly doesn’t add to Combatribes flavor, just exaggerates it unnecessarily.
The strength is all upper body here, purposeful punches are never pulled and despite a push towards the skittish, the sense of being a martial arts tank isn’t lost. That’s where this closed off intensity shines anyway, crunching sound effects elevating each hit or slam with devastating aggression. Blood doesn’t change that.
It’s a developmental style that knows its limits, Combatribes expiring before it goes stale, the lightly furnished levels only stretching thin as a boss rush commences five acts in. Added to the home edition is a goofy versus mode complete with special moves dying to appeal to a widening fighting audience in 1992. That’s forcing the issue, trying to find something where nothing is buried because marketing saw a trend, or a chance to relive that oddball NES Double Dragon head-to-head mode. Nostalgia sells too.
The true experience remains in co-op, the SNES edition dropping a potential third-player for a less chaotic twosome and it’s just as well. Bulky, thickly outlined sprites are vying for space on tightly compacted maps, accentuating a mob mentality without soaring over its potential. Combatribes lands in that happy medium so many seem to miss, precisely identifying what the design is allowed.
That doesn’t leave room for extravagance, the rather slim whole anemic by home standards, while its source material knew a handful of levels ensured additional coinage. The console port is sort of trapped between two styles, only winning with one of them from a consumer perspective.
There’s an argument that there’s enough here to give a pass though, replayability soaring just because of Technos’ programming charms. Combatribes is the type of rumble that takes 20-minutes to blaze through with some spare time to kill, and routinely finds a way into that rotation. There’s no means of denying the satisfaction, again those masterfully ferocious arenas ensuring a stream of violence for venting or general video game mayhem. You can’t call it boring.
Think of it this way: Were Combatribes spaced out, the effect wouldn’t be the same. This is a grungy, dirty, and even feisty beat-em-up that sustains itself on adrenaline. Once the punches cease flowing, so does its energy. The creative spark dematerializes, and it stops being everything it was intended to be.
And Combatribes is nothing without its mild ingenuity.
No Comments »
Combatribes has always felt unfairly ostracized for doing things in its own way, shuffling the beat-em-up into contained arenas where the street level fisticuffs almost feel comfortable. It’s where this type of combat feels involved and even natural, forcing the issue with little wiggle room or space as broken bottle-toting bikers or enraged gang members make their rush.
It’s hilarious to see Nintendo’s patented friendliness applied though, bowing to the more conservative who find the sight of blood repulsive, yet mounting a clown to smash his face into the pavement is given a thumbs up. Coulrophobia suffers unite here apparently. Technos’ arcade version almost gleefully let the blood drip (even from the clowns), which admittedly doesn’t add to Combatribes flavor, just exaggerates it unnecessarily.
The strength is all upper body here, purposeful punches are never pulled and despite a push towards the skittish, the sense of being a martial arts tank isn’t lost. That’s where this closed off intensity shines anyway, crunching sound effects elevating each hit or slam with devastating aggression. Blood doesn’t change that.
It’s a developmental style that knows its limits, Combatribes expiring before it goes stale, the lightly furnished levels only stretching thin as a boss rush commences five acts in. Added to the home edition is a goofy versus mode complete with special moves dying to appeal to a widening fighting audience in 1992. That’s forcing the issue, trying to find something where nothing is buried because marketing saw a trend, or a chance to relive that oddball NES Double Dragon head-to-head mode. Nostalgia sells too.
The true experience remains in co-op, the SNES edition dropping a potential third-player for a less chaotic twosome and it’s just as well. Bulky, thickly outlined sprites are vying for space on tightly compacted maps, accentuating a mob mentality without soaring over its potential. Combatribes lands in that happy medium so many seem to miss, precisely identifying what the design is allowed.
That doesn’t leave room for extravagance, the rather slim whole anemic by home standards, while its source material knew a handful of levels ensured additional coinage. The console port is sort of trapped between two styles, only winning with one of them from a consumer perspective.
There’s an argument that there’s enough here to give a pass though, replayability soaring just because of Technos’ programming charms. Combatribes is the type of rumble that takes 20-minutes to blaze through with some spare time to kill, and routinely finds a way into that rotation. There’s no means of denying the satisfaction, again those masterfully ferocious arenas ensuring a stream of violence for venting or general video game mayhem. You can’t call it boring.
Think of it this way: Were Combatribes spaced out, the effect wouldn’t be the same. This is a grungy, dirty, and even feisty beat-em-up that sustains itself on adrenaline. Once the punches cease flowing, so does its energy. The creative spark dematerializes, and it stops being everything it was intended to be.
And Combatribes is nothing without its mild ingenuity.
No Comments »
