hylian_elf wrote:

I have 2. Journey and Last of Us.

What prompted me to mention all this was Yoss's comment in the sacrifice thread that he'd get rid of Sony without a second thought. And then I thought about what I/we all would miss if Yoss had his way. Some of the most amazing games ever, by the looks of it. 

Imagine no:

Persona 4
FFXII
Okami
Team ICO games
Bloodborne
Demons Souls
Journey
Last of Us
Nier Automata

So many more.

I care not for RPGs, nor the ponderous combat of the Souls games. But, having said that, aren't most of that list simply games that 3rd party devs chose only to release on the market leading console of the time, and if Sony weren't to exist they'd likely have just been released on a different console?

Snowmobile racer on ps1? Go.

https://youtu.be/YfTWMYltOgY

Sled storm. Cop that draw distance.

It was, very solid handling.

Persona 4 Golden done. I'm gonna have to make space in my top 10.

Nice one!

So glad you're now an official P4G cultist. One day we will rule the world.

100 great games. 100 mini reviews:

Dark Souls: Comfortably the finest videogame I've ever played, for a long list of reasons: the oppressive atmosphere, the subtle story, the levelling system, the souls retrieval mechanic, the multiplayer integration, the customisation options, the choice of routes and play styles, the precise, methodical combat, the cast of bosses that each test a different skill, and that astonishingly coherent game world. But if I reduced it to a single point, it would be its sense of mystery. (In)Famously it tells you almost nothing. A tutorial section introduces basic controls, then it abandons you, and aside from vague hints from the odd NPC you're alone in a huge, decaying and hostile land. You begin to test the different routes, some with deadly results. You notice things. And you learn. For me, the game's first real boss taught me the fundamental lesson, as I became frustrated by repeated failures, working my way back for another attempt only to be destroyed again. I nearly gave up. But in each trek towards death thoughts formed - tactics I could try, an item I’d acquired that might prove useful - until finally I made a breakthrough. When that boss fell it was a heart pounding moment, and I realised something. The game's difficulty is not formed around great feats of skill, but in forcing you to pay close attention and take advantage of crucial details - a scenery feature, a particular moment of vulnerability. In a way, you have to unlearn the habits of modern games, which so often highlight things for you. This point is doubly important because Dark Souls was released in a generation when console games had become so streamlined with hints, button prompts and visual cues to ensure smooth progress that there often wasn't much game left. At that moment, Dark Souls was like being shaken awake from a catatonic stupor. Of course, the mysteries aren't worth unravelling without sufficient reward, and the game excels here too. The world is full of interconnecting pathways, leading to ever more hellish and intricate areas, only to curve back round to the relief of a familiar haven. There are myriad hidden rooms and crevices, sheltering trinkets that you may or may not find useful. You see powerful monsters that are best left alone, but want to know what treasure they might drop. NPCs are not quite what they seem, locked doors demand to be opened, item descriptions allude to locations and characters that inspire further exploration. Everything has an angle that you didn't initially see, including the RPG numbers behind the game's systems. The urge to search and experiment is insatiable, because there is always something else to discover, even in a fourth or fifth play through. The mystery never ends.

Super Mario 64: When I played Mario 64 in the early N64 days it felt like entering the next level of game design. While 3D games had become the norm, most had only hinted at the potential in that extra dimension. Mario 64 realised it, and literally set us free to run amok in its superbly crafted playgrounds. Even now, the level of freedom granted by the move set and level design remains an achievement, with so many ways to maneouvre, no invisible walls (except the edges of each large area), and no scenery that's out of play. The result is a wonderfully consistent and sturdy toy box, in which you can clamber, flip and hurdle with abandon. It all revolves around Mario's signature action - the jump - which is implemented to provide room for self-expression. It's not merely a matter of judging heights and lengths, but of performing tight turns to create momentum for wall kicks, or engineering suitable run-ups for triple jumps. With the addition of cannon travel in some courses, the game really opens itself up to your ingenuity and precision, whether crafting audacious short cuts or just reaching your goal in style. In addition, many levels are among the most memorable in any Mario game, even those with more predictable themes (ice and lava). There's a commitment here to experimental ideas that means you're constantly being thrown into something new, from precision platforming to racing to exploration to boss fights. The way the styles are all integrated into single spaces is a marvel, with repeated visits to each level revealing more about its interconnections, and prodding you to navigate it in a new way. In some cases, such as Tick Tock Clock or Tiny Huge World, the composition of the challenge changes depending on how you enter the world. Everything about the game, including Mario's boundless enthusiasm, is designed to make you play with it, and is topped off by the joy of swinging Bowser round by his tail.

Final Fantasy VII: It's easy to view Final Fantasy VII merely as a game of its time, because it was the first major JRPG to really exploit the CD-ROM format, with its dramatic score and cinematic presentation, but it remains a masterful example of the genre. Most significantly, the storytelling and characters are exceptional, despite some contrived plot points, while the tactical scope offered by the battle system puts many more recent RPGs to shame. In terms of story, the fundamental aspect is that the characters are simply a joy to be with, as all are interestingly designed and fully formed,but also contribute to a sense of common purpose that builds throughout the game. This is reinforced by the world design, and a great cast of villains from multiple factions, all introduced with immaculate pacing in the opening six hours, allowing the game to spread into a more familiar RPG structure thereafter. There are plenty of memorable locations and moments still to come, of course, and each is augmented by the amazing soundtrack, which adds atmosphere and emotional weight to every event. As for the gameplay, there's materia - magic stones that can be used by any character and combined in various ways to create a huge range of offensive or defensive abilities and effects. It's not immediately clear quite how flexible this system is, and arguably the game could be tougher to coerce you into using it more creatively, but if you experiment the potential is liberating. There's much more to mention besides, including some great camerawork, the personal and global narrative themes, and a ton of optional mini-games and end game content. The latter could become a massive grind, but it was worth it, just to stay longer in Final Fantasy VII's immensely detailed and imaginative world. 

Street Fighter II Turbo: The SNES is the one console I regularly played with friends. A group of us gathered together most evenings, usually with a SNES among us, and usually with Street Fighter 2 slotted in it, preferably Turbo. It was the game back then - everyone played it, and we had really learned how it all worked. Or so we thought. Then I bought a player's guide and we soon realised there were aspects of street fighting that we'd never fully exploited. The 'cross-up', for example, and of course that now-so-familiar term, the 'combo'. Specifically, the two-in-one combo, where a normal punch or kick could be linked with a special move to devastating effect. A new phase of the addiction took hold as we practised these finer techniques, and the true depths of the game emerged. All these years later, I've still never played anything that elicited the same blend of skill, showmanship and psychological manoeuvring. Even though our fights were nearly always Ken vs Ken (we just preferred Ken) there were so many possibilities in each bout. Everything in it is a risk-reward calculation that hangs on tiny variations in position and timing. Shoot a fireball from too close as your opponent jumps in and you're in trouble. If they jump late (or better, if you feint and trick them into jumping) you dragon punch them. Now you've a chance to fly it at them, to land a combo if you execute it right and they get their blocking wrong. Naturally, there's far more besides - it's often a constant back and forth, trying to work an opening, chipping away with single shots while maintaining your guard, tension rising as the energy bars reduce. Or, someone exploits a gap in the opening seconds and it's over in an instant. It's clinical, brutal, heart-poundingly competitive. It never needed any new characters, super moves or 3D graphics. It was already perfect.

Super Metroid: With 'Metroidvania' now shorthand for a certain kind of game structure, it's easy to forget what else made the original template stand out. More than anything is how well it conveys the sense that you are isolated on an unknown, unfriendly planet. As the rain beats down outside, you head for the shelter of the caves, fighting through bizarre wildlife intertwined around ancient ruins, then work down to the near-silence underground, and the solitude presses upon you. But this is not merely atmosphere - it's at the core of the game. Thus, ageing computer terminals may still offer maps and energy recharges, but they won't talk to you or tell you where to go. You feel lost because you're meant to, wandering a hostile environment, accompanied by threatening alien music, seeking pathways and passages while blasting the flora and fauna. And as you wander, so much seems barred or out of reach. Doors that won't open, of course, but also alternate routes running below you, strange statues that must mean something, items placed just too high to grasp, areas that melt your spacesuit with blistering heat. Most importantly, many of these are not simply locks demanding application of a specific key, but tests of skill and observation. So, the grappling hook or the boost jump, for example, are versatile tools that grant opportunities for progress through practice, ingenuity and experimentation. You notice that a part of the wall is different, or that there's an unbroken flat surface long enough to build up your speed boost. In some cases, you're even given ideas from the way certain indigenous creatures behave. And then you actually have to execute your plan. The level design is dense and precise, leaving visual clues that hint at the feats required to access its hidden treasures. But the game's commitment to your loneliness is its greatest asset - essential to your sense of discovery and achievement.  

Astro Boy: Omega Factor: On a single play through it's not obvious why Astro Boy is so great, although it's mechanically and creatively a very well-made game. It has that signature Treasure spark in its design, from the imagination in its boss encounters to the simple but clever move set. It's quite a basic platform beat 'em up on the surface, with punches, kicks, and a couple of super weapons to do big damage and provide a moment's respite. But how you employ all these attacks to control crowds and resist what bosses throw at you (a blue whale in one instance) adds considerable tactical scope. So it goes. By the time you reach the credits, you'll have bested some memorable opponents, met some wacky characters, visited a range of unusual locations, and generally had a great time. Yet what's most interesting is what happens next. In a smart narrative twist, things still aren't quite right in the world, so you're given the ability to travel in time to redo your work in a slightly different way. In practice, and in a great example of framing a game mechanic within the narrative, this functions as a level select, and back you go to repeat the missions you've already done. Except now something important has changed - you're not just fighting through enemies as before, but taking part in a detective story. You need to meet those wacky characters again, and locate more hidden away in certain levels, to acquire new information. But you need to do it in the right order, else they won't give you what you need. The simple demand of going through the game again thus takes on a fresh perspective, as you complete each level for a different reason, find different paths and reach different outcomes, until a new ending is revealed. It may not sound much, but it's an immensely original and compelling idea that elevates a very good game to a really special one.

Bayonetta: The ultimate action game, which does its thing so comprehensively with such confidence it's impossible to be unimpressed. Its thing is slick, exhilarating, flamboyant combat, with an extraordinary eye for scale and style. It revolves around a game mechanic that pushes everything into slow motion momentarily each time you perfectly dodge an attack. Using this ability, you dance between enemies, appearing behind them to unleash flurries of blows as each fumbles their attempted assault. It escalates from there. Finish combos with wicked weave attacks that slam opponents into the ground. Unleash torture attacks that summon in iron maidens or guillotines. Tie guns to your feet to add extra bang to your kicks. The enemy responds with bigger, faster, and more numerous beasts, and you do everything quicker, time it even better and employ your showstopping moves more strategically, all in an astonishing rhythm that's utterly in tune with your control inputs. There's also an excellent range of weapons to be obtained, from a whip to a bazooka to ice skates; each can be paired with another weapon (one on the hands, one on the feet) to taste, and you can even switch between sets mid-combo. Aside from the mechanics, though, is that scale and style. It proceeds from the extreme camp tone, which can be tiresome in its emphasis on cheap titillation but also drives the incredible character and scenario design, including the huge boss encounters that find new levels of absurd spectacle right to the end. But then, the end is where things get more interesting, as a range of optional areas, trophies and harder difficulties push the tempo higher still. It seems to have gone too far when the slow motion is removed, yet by that point you're already fast enough to cope without it, and new tricks come into play that can offset the loss. It's another amazing challenge in a game that does everything you could want it to. 

Fire Emblem: This is the first Fire Emblem I played, on the GBA, and still easily the best (although I haven't had a chance to play the 3DS versions). The first great thing about it was that it was pretty much an unknown quantity. I knew it was made by Nintendo and that it was a Strategy RPG and nothing else, but took a chance. First impression was how basic it looked, in its zoomed out map mode, and that the paper-scissors-stone type relationship between the main weapons was overly simple. But then I got past all that and discovered that there was plenty of depth after all. In fact, that weapons triangle is a great feature - you put the right unit in among the right group of enemies, preferably with some cover, and it can handle them on its own, put the wrong unit in and it'll get destroyed. Then there's magic, bows and other kinds of attacks, plus all sorts of other things to consider: weather conditions and darkness, flying units, reinforcements, villages and NPCs that need saving, treasure chests, items to steal, enemy thieves that steal the treasure, units to recruit, relationships to nurture, shops, arenas, and so on. Put all these together and add in permanent death and you have a very complex game, which becomes incredibly exacting when you're trying to complete levels 'perfectly' - i.e. kill, recruit, save, or steal everything you can, whilst maximising your XP gain. And for me that's the only way to play. None of this Ironman business here, but then there's no quick save feature either. So, make a mistake and its 'restart chapter' and this time get it right. I've played through it a few times like this, including on Hard mode, and the levels are designed with just enough opportunity to get everything done. Strangely, subsequent FE games either had fewer features or diluted the formula with random battles between chapters, and were worse for it.

Metal Gear Solid V: I still find it hard to believe how well MGSV worked. There are so many different elements in play at any given time, and so many options open to you, it's amazing that it almost never fails to produce logical and fair results, let alone satisfying and funny ones. All the base and story building aspects are superfluous - it's an incredible open world experience that enables emergent gameplay in spades and is supremely fun to play. The solidity of the game world, and its AI that's just smart enough (guards even change their equipment to counter your tactics) and just stupid enough (with a great sideline in slapstick pratfalls), is at the core of its success. Things do what you expect, meaning that improvisation is regularly rewarding. If creeping up on an outpost and getting about unseen is one pleasure, then coping with a mess is often another. The other side of the equation is the sheer number of tools and weapons at your disposal, including the game changing viewing scope and Fulton extraction systems. Both eliminate the fuss of stealth games - the scope tracking enemy locations and the Fulton quickly removing bodies. The latter eventually even doubles as a weapon of sorts - why fight a tank head on when you can sneak up behind and have it ballooned away? More generally, there's something supremely entertaining about incapacitating groups of guards with your range of toys, from gas-filled decoys to sleep mines to stun guns to your dog armed with a taser, all while 'Take on Me' by A-Ha plays through your headphones. The buddies, including the wonderful D-Dog, are also a great addition. All these parts are then placed into missions that have multiple entrance and exit points, as well as various optional objectives that can alter your approach altogether, to create an endlessly inventive and joyful formula.

Dragon Quest IX: DQIX is a light, welcoming and apparently traditional RPG, with its cartoon monsters, dungeon exploring and turn-based combat. But underneath that there's a lot of forward-thinking game design and quality writing. In terms of exploration and combat, it cuts out a lot of the fuss of older RPGs - monsters are visible as you wander, side quests are clearly marked, and so on. The fighting itself is slick, yet its simple beginnings eventually reveal impressive depth, as job classes and a range of skills are unlocked. Then, when it comes to the story, the initial surprise is that most of your characters have nothing to do with it. Only the main protagonist, a guardian angel sent to aid humanity, has an impact - the rest are merely recruits who help with the fighting. It's an approach that's soon vindicated, and not only due to the game's online mode, which enables you to join other players' parties. It fits perfectly with the narrative tone, as your anonymous protector drifts across the land solving the regional problems. Interestingly, for much of the game there is little overarching plot, only a series of self-contained stories, and all of them revolve around mortality and grief. As the archetypal RPG hero, you still venture into dungeons and kill monsters, but you can't stop or reverse the tragedies that occur, only prevent further anguish and help people cope. Yet the real poignancy emerges when the game puts these stories in relief against the horrors of immortality, from which a global threat finally arrives, and becomes an incredibly comforting affirmation of life. And if that wasn't already enough, you may then discover the additional post-story content, with its random dungeons, item crafting and secret bosses, which becomes a game in itself, and indeed could take nearly a lifetime to get through.

F-Zero X: I still haven't played another racing game that puts 30 vehicles on the track at once, nor one that makes it so much fun to work your way through the pack. There are actually quite a number of elements that make F-Zero X a great experience though. The track design is fantastic for one, with so many twists, jumps, tunnels and tubes that give each course an individual character. The speed arrows placed around each one encourage optimum racing lines, and the velocity with which it all moves demands fine control. Then there's the 'combat' aspect, which wisely does away with the Mario Kart style weapons that Wipeout commandeered. Instead you can ram your opponents, which when timed correctly can send them crashing into the sides or flying off the track altogether. And because winning a race puts you at the back of the pack for the next one, you have to get good at dodging and forcing you way through at the right moments. Then, you also realise that the barge move doubles as a great way of taking tight bends without slowing down, and suddenly you're playing an even faster game and really competing at the higher difficulty levels. After all that, the final touch of genius is in tying your manual boost ability to your energy bar. It pushes you to boost to the limit, crossing the finish line with just a sliver of energy left, because if you play it safe and conserve energy you might never catch the leaders. It's perfect risk-reward, and a lot of races come down to the wire because of it (works great in Time Trial mode too). I couldn't get enough, and in the end I'd finished every cup (including the superb X cup with its random track generator that could throw up some crazy bends) on every difficulty with every car. There's no reason to do that at all. It was just so enjoyable.

Super Bomberman: Always my first choice for multiplayer sessions in the SNES days, whenever Street Fighter 2 was given a rest. It was really just this one particular stage in the first SNES game that stood out - 'speed zone' - which not only contained all the different power ups but also had character movement stuck on super fast. Thus, the tactical possibilities were maximised and it could all unfold (or unravel) at a startling pace. Grab a boxing glove early and you might be able to punch a bomb over the wall to trap an opponent in his corner. Get the full power pick up and bombs could take out rivals from across the screen, before they knew they were in danger. But best of all was always the manually detonated bombs, which not only allowed you to quickly clear blocks, but were also efficient killers when combined with the kick power up, and especially useful for swift hit and runs. Drop one next to a foe, nip round the corner and immediately blow it up - they'd have to react instantly to survive it. But of course, the wonderful thing about Bomberman, and even more so in speed zone, is that everything you do has a chance of backfiring spectacularly. Never has the phrase 'hoist by your own petard' been more regularly appropriate, and the greater your power and the more demonic your intentions, the bigger the danger you pose to yourself. For this reason, merely surviving can be as strong a tactic as aggression, as opponents blow themselves up or box themselves in trying to land the killer explosion. Yet it's far from a game of luck, despite the random distribution of power ups, as ultimately the most important tool in your armoury is your ability to spot a safe space between the bombs and move there instantly. It all adds up to the perfect multiplayer recipe of clinical assassinations, comedic pratfalls and against the odds comebacks. 

Castlevania: Symphony of the Night: Everything about SotN is a little messy and a little loose. But for me it's precisely the rough edges that make it such a classic. It's clear early on that it's a bit of a Frankenstein's monster, stitched together from ideas and assets that span the SNES and PS1 eras. The visuals combine old sprites with detailed backgrounds and bosses, there's speech but it's oddly low quality, and even the music, while consistently excellent, seems to choose styles at random. But the game structure creates the most intrigue, and it's not done justice by calling it a Metroid clone, even though it shares the basic features. It's actually far more open, with only a few significant barriers to unlock, and the amount of access each power up grants varies wildly. In particular, once you get the bat form you can go to the 'ending' having explored maybe half the castle, while the 'twist' that opens up the true ending is hidden behind some fairly obscure stuff and whole areas you could easily miss. And of course there is that twist, which is not only surprisingly generous but effectively throws out the rest of the rule book for a game with light RPG elements. Suddenly you're completely free to roam and tackle a load of new bosses in any order. You'll be over levelled for some and under levelled for others and the game doesn't care. It throws weapons, armour and items at you, some of which are virtually useless and some which have great powers you might never know about, and gives you access to special magic attacks that you could find accidentally at the start of the game or miss completely. In short, SotN is happy to let you play with it, without being precious about how you experience it. Mostly, it leaves you alone to wander, explore, discover, and see the vast array of sights, while always enjoying the soundtrack. No other 'Metroidvania' game has its unique character, maybe because it wasn't entirely intentional in the first place.

Invisible Inc.: Another great turn-based strategy game, but one that differs significantly from the usual formula in its premise and execution. Most obviously, it's about stealth, so while there is combat it's brief and infrequent. Secondly, there are no percentages or random factors to consider. The rules are always transparent and consistent - surprise only comes from your own rashness or inability to consider the full consequences of your actions. You soon understand the basics of staying in cover and scoping out unknown territory, as well as the intricacies of each character's unique abilities. For the most part you'll move unseen, and only knock guards out if there's no other option. You also have to focus on hacking and generating the power to keep taking over security cameras, shutting down laser grids, opening safes and hijacking robot sentries. Crucially, the whole thing is always on a knife edge balance. The final mission on a run requires a well-equipped team, and to get the supplies and personnel you'll need to maximise your hacking, looting and pickpocketing. In some levels you'll find your objectives and escape route quickly, but there's always another area to search, usually full of safes, that tempts you to stay longer. The counter to this is that within each stage the security level rises every turn, so after a while new cameras switch on, then the hacking defences rise, then, eventually, new guards teleport in to hunt you down. The timing is crucial, and you learn to push it to the wire as you try and fulfil your mission, loot the place and race to the exit as a pack of guards homes in on your position. For a game in which time stops between each move the pressure and tension can be immense. And somehow even when you've got yourself cornered there's often still a way out, if only you have the ingenuity to weigh up all the variables in front of you.

Suikoden 1 & 2: On the face of it, the PS1 Suikoden games are mere traditional JRPGs, to the point of even sticking to classic sprite-based graphics. The turn-based combat, map traversal and dungeon exploration would feel immediately familiar to anyone acquainted with the genre. Suikoden 2 is superior to the first, with its vastly expanded world and plot, smarter visuals, and wealth of sub-games and side quests, but it still reproduces the tested formula. Yet both games remain favourites, because the feature that really elevates the series and structures its best elements is consistently strong between them (plus the original's compact simplicity has its own charms). In each case, you are one of the 108 stars of destiny, fated to band together and battle an evil empire sweeping the continent. At least, that is, if you can recruit them all. In practice, this means you meet numerous individuals on your travels who are potential stars. Some join you automatically as part of the story, while others require you to meet specific conditions. Crucially, many of these characters can fight by your side in your 6-person party, bringing unique skills and team-up moves to otherwise simple combat. Furthermore, they set the ground for a different mode of battle, which emerges as chapters culminate in strategic showdowns between armies. And, naturally, you soon need a headquarters for your crew to gather, and so developing a base becomes central to your endeavours. Gradually, your sparse and shabby hideout transforms into a bustling maze of living quarters, shops and communal spaces. As it fills with characters, you feel the desire to explore the world and seek out more, and the simple RPG becomes a mission to complete your Utopian enclave.

The Witness: It never sounded possible that a game based around wandering about an island solving line puzzles could have that much to offer, but then I could never have imagined how versatile line puzzles could be. The quality and variety of the puzzles is the first thing that stands out about The Witness. On one hand they involve a wide range of abstract rules within the grids themselves, using a variety of symbols, on the other they bring in all sorts of environmental features, from scenery to lighting to sound. These puzzles therefore exercise the brain in different ways, and often lead to Eureka moments. But also, these moments allow you to feel clever, rather than being led to a solution, because of how the game introduces all its ideas without a spoken or written word, and has confidence in you to exercise your observational and logical skills. It's not even showing instead of telling, but learning by doing, as each new concept is established by having you play with a few grids. Then, more grids develop these rules further, and through the practice of solving them you're absorbing the language and combining its elements automatically. It's a perfect lesson in how games can create complex systems of interaction without ever bringing you out of the game itself. And even more than that, when something doesn't click, that's when the calm, open world nature of the game helps out, as you always feel free to go somewhere else and try a different kind of puzzle, without pressure. At some point you'll come back and figure it out, and The Witness knows that's more satisfying for you than being given hints or directions. There's such a deep understanding of reward here, and it almost never puts a foot wrong.

Celeste: An exceptional piece of 2D platform game design that brilliantly marries the tribulations of its player with the emotions of its character. In mechancial terms, it supplies a simple control scheme that enables supreme precision and then tests it to the limit in a vast array of situations. In design terms, it frequently throws up smart ideas, some familiar, some really quite original, all incoporating mild puzzle elements that have you coaxing insane solutions out of the various environmental features and that narrow yet flexible moveset. The combination of skill and creativity required to advance, and especially to collect the optional strawberries dotted around each stage, is expertly balanced, and while it's often mercilessly exacting you're never asked to do too much in one go. And when you've got a central character who's main trait is self-doubt, leading her to this self-imposed mission to climb Celeste mountain, these continuous, arduous tests become oddly meaningful. As Madeline is frustrated by her own weakness and fear, we are frustrated by our timidity and insufficient skill in the face of the game's tougher layouts. But her tenacity also spurs us into perserverence, and we invariably prove our doubts wrong, as the seemingly impossible turns out to be possible after all. Through the game, we learn with Madeline to believe in ourselves, and by the final ascent jump, grab and dash through the air with effortless precision, spurred on by our successes up to that point. The achievement of finishing Celeste is not attached to some world-saving narrative, but presented to us as it really is - a challenge we accept just to prove something to ourselves - and feels all the more valuable for it.  

R-Type: If you experienced it for the first time today it might be hard to understand what's so great about R-Type, but a lot of that is because some of its then groundbreaking features have been done to death since. At the time it came out it was like no other shooter before it. I first played it in the arcade on holiday one year, and it was immediately obvious how good it was. The first level throws so many different things at you, each of which seems like a mini set piece all on its own. Plus there's the orb - still the most versatile power I've seen in a shoot 'em up. And of course the levels were designed to make you get the most out of it, making them as much a matter of strategy as skills. Some time later I would get hold of the near perfect conversion on the PC Engine and finally made some proper progress. Well, it was only the first four levels - the other four had to be bought separately - but they were mostly the best ones anyway (played the whole thing since on MAME and the last few are too bloody hard for one), and I would play them repeatedly, just completely happy that that arcade game was now playable on my TV. Final mention to the bosses, some of which have become iconic - the alien thing, the heart/snake, the ship that divides into sections, and of course the 3rd level - the giant ship that is the level itself. Might seem fairly ordinary now, but back then it was mindblowing.

The Secret of Mana: At a time when the joy of an epic RPG quest was often ground down by random battles, Secret of Mana removed them altogether and replaced them with the play style of an action game. Thus, within the framework of a huge sprawling adventure and character progression, combat became an enjoyable and coherent means of advancement. Enemies visibly blocked your way, requiring you to outmanoeuvre them and counter their offence with charged attacks and magic blasts. Yet, remarkably, the RPG party remained present, with three main characters fighting together that you could instantly switch between and co-ordinate strategically. Meanwhile, the smart wheel menus granted instant access to spells and items without breaking the flow too much. It's an easy to use yet flexible system that enables you to focus on traversing the environments, without sacrificing a decent challenge. As for the environments, the bright colour palette and relaxed backing tunes in overground sections and towns welcome you in and invite you to enjoy your journey at a leisurely pace. These contrast with the foreboding atmosphere of the various castles and caves, with their cold greys and clanging music, where urgent objectives lie. It's a world full of charm and atmosphere that wants you to wander every one of its locations, which are as many and varied as you could expect of any 'proper' RPG. And then, of course, there's multi-tap support, allowing three players to take the journey together. This experience was sometimes chaotic, but mostly a great exercise in teamwork and a wonderful way to share a superbly crafted adventure. 
 
The Last Guardian: The key to the Last Guardian was always going to be how convincingly the relationship between boy and beast was developed during the game, and it greatly surpassed my expectations. A superb combination of incidental animations and slightly opaque AI means that you're never in control of Trico but still able to coax it into the necessary actions, at least with a bit of patience. Crucially, the ease and breadth of your communication increases as Trico becomes accustomed to your signals and learns to trust you. Thus, from cautious beginnings it gradually starts to understand and even anticipate your requirements. There are minor glitches (especially with the camera), but these are understandable given the incredible feat of creating a puzzle platform game around a tool set embodied in such a huge, mobile form. Besides, in terms of Trico's behaviour, it's not always a curse, as the line blurs between unintentional glitches and AI complexities. In the context of The Last Guardian's theme, difficulties in getting the beast to function as you wish often fold back into the whole illusion of communication between two very different creatures. It makes sense that their thinking isn't always in tune. Of course, it's also important that the rest of the game's content and design are of a high standard. The world is believable as a mysterious, crumbling ruin. The platforming sections, enemy encounters and puzzles are clever and neat. Set pieces are suitably dramatic. Ultimately, though, it comes back to that bond, and how invested you've become as the game reaches its climax. By that point your boy and Trico are inseparable, codependent companions, each guarding the other. The emotionally fraught ending is a testament to everything that's gone before. 

Shadow of the Colossus: I always wanted to play this, and finally got the chance with the remake. What was amazing, regardless of the visual detail and any modern streamlining, was how fresh the core game still felt. The first thing that impresses is its commitment to the setting - a cursed land long abandoned by human inhabitants. The brave move for a game is to leave the huge open plains, deserts and caverns empty, save for a smattering of wildlife and ancient ruins. It's an incredibly evocative piece of world building that centres on your isolation and the singular commitment of the character's mission. But of course, the colossi are the main attraction, and the battles you face increasingly deliver in scale and drama. The pattern of carefully sizing up the features of your opponent and its surroundings to figure out a weakness seems surprisingly original, even though it only expands on established boss battle concepts, and having to earn that opening grants catharsis when finally delivering the fatal blow. Certainly, some of the puzzle elements aren't as well communicated as others, being overly contrived or obscure, but the majority of solutions emerge as rewards for patient observation. There's also a lot of nuance in the simple set of player inputs, with the grab function especially doing a lot of work. Climbing towards a foe's weak point becomes an epic struggle, as each colossus desperately fights to delay the inevitable. And then, when it comes, that catharsis is tinged with melancholy, as the rush of battle dissipates and the reality of your 'achievement' becomes clear. It's the moment that most perfectly encapsulates the game's tragic central theme - the concurrent selfless nobility and selfish violence of your quest.      

Shining Force 1 & 2: There are a number of strategy RPGs that are among my favourites, but the MD Shining Force games are where the fascination started. At the time I'd played nothing like them, and they seemed so expansive, imaginative and tactically interesting. Figuring out the pros and cons of each grid-based move felt like a game of chess (literally in one memorable scene in the sequel), as advancing too quickly or too slowly really could make a huge difference between picking off enemies and getting surrounded, while poor spacing of your troops could leave them either vulnerable to area of effect magic or unable to gang up quickly on close range attackers. Even before all that, there was the difficulty of picking your team. Making sure you had a good balance of classes in battle was of course essential, but do you leave out one of your reliable veterans for a potentially powerful new recruit, or rely on the same faces every time to get them promoted as quickly as possible? At the same time, while the overall stories in the games were standard fantasy fare, each member of the force was an actual character, with a name, picture, backstory and personality traits, so you wanted to look after them. There was also plenty of variety in settings and opponents, and in the second game especially some great set pieces. More recent series in the genre (Fire Emblem, Disgaea, Final Fantasy Tactics) have naturally made big advancements in the formula, so it can seem quite basic now. But they all owe a big debt to Shining Force, which did so much to establish that formula to begin with.

The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time: The first 3D Zelda, back when it was still relatively fresh, and easily the most captivating fantasy epic of its generation. A number of things stand out, but especially the coherence of its world, the wonderful use of 3D space in the dungeons, and the spooky fairy tale atmosphere. But then also the combat, with its neat lock-on targeting system, or the strange cast of NPCs, as well as the huge variety of activities on offer - horse riding, archery, fishing - and all the hidden items, quests or oddball moments to discover. Plus of course there's the time travel mechanic, used to impressive effect in some supreme puzzle design. Indeed, the puzzles are almost all perfectly pitched, often demanding simple physics-based solutions (torches to cut through webbing, iron boots to weigh you down), but then at times introducing more mystical elements to shift your expectations and encourage more lateral thinking. The twisted corridor in the forest temple is the prime example of that combination of magic and logic. The bosses are very memorable too, each with its own creatively ingenious characteristic, and each susceptible to a specific item from that superb old tool set of bombs, boomerangs, hookshots and more. In the end, you can't boil it down to any one thing - each of these elements and more are part of an experience that was simultaneously groundbreaking, expertly constructed and endlessly imaginative. It was impossible to stop playing until you'd witnessed every one of its extraordinary moments.  

Super Mario World: I was in 6th form when I bought a SNES. As in, I went into town and bought it during the lunch break one Friday and had it on me all afternoon until I went home. It had just the one game, a pack-in Super Mario World, which I had been keen to play since reading the reviews of the Japanese version. So I set up the SNES that evening and started playing, and then kept playing all evening, and all Saturday evening, and all Sunday, and by the time I was back at school on Monday I'd finished it and found 88 of the 96 level exits. The weekend was a blur, completely consumed by a game so perfectly crafted and addictive it never seemed a good idea to stop. There was no other platform game before, and few since, with the same scope, imagination and variety. Each type of level shifts the pace or direction, to test your jumping skills in slightly different ways. Then there are all those secrets to uncover that encourage you to experiment with everything you can, and so often reward your efforts. It's a journey that constantly surprises - at the beginning you'd never expect to find yourself on the star road or those weird bonus levels, or to find shortcuts that crossed between the loosely themed areas. Plus Mario controls so precisely, with a quick turn of pace and that tricky but never too punishing inertia. In some stages the game has you hopping between platforms just a few pixels wide, while avoiding enemies or projectiles, and it never feels overwhelming. It wasn't close to being over in that crazed 48 hours either. Once I'd found the final exits (the cheese bridge one of course the last), I went through it all again on another save. Then I found the shortest route possible to complete the game, just because.

Yoshi's Island: Coming at the tail end of the SNES lifespan, I had to wait until the GBA re-release to play it fully, but it was worth the wait. The linear level structure initially seemed like a backward step after Super Mario World, but it soon became clear that there was just as much to see and do. The focus was merely different, which gave it a unique charm, and it was equally impressive once you entered its world. To begin with, the mere fact of controlling Yoshi is a mechanical adjustment, as he's less nimble but more hardy and deadly than grown up Mario. Egg missiles, ground stomps, watermelon pips and that vicious tongue are a formidable arsenal, while death rarely arrives from a single mistake. Thus, the levels are built for steady advancement and a careful aim, rather than pinpoint jumping feats. The other important aspect is that the game throws something new at you at every turn. There are 'standard' platforming sections, but they're always interrupted by, say, a huge jelly-like monster, or a trip on a balloon, or Yoshi transforming into a helicopter, or skiing down a mountain, or stumbling around drunk. Where many games would milk a handful of these ideas, Yoshi's Island introduces them then quickly discards them for something equally imaginative. It's a wonderfully childlike approach to play that fits perfectly with the wax crayon graphical style and twee soundtrack. Yet there's also a real challenge underneath the pastel colours, in the form of a points total which requires you to obtain difficult to reach items to gain perfect scores and unlock secret levels. It's a stiffer task than anything in the previous game, and completes a supremely entertaining package.

Contra III: I got a US import version of this early on in the SNES days and it was one of those games that's instantly seems to justify the new hardware. The first level starts off in fairly ordinary run and gun fashion, except the music is already raising the bar, and then it just takes off from there, with one extraordinary set piece after another, and plenty of impressive Mode 7 effects. There's a bit halfway through that opening stage where a huge bomber suddenly zooms out of the distance and sets the floor ablaze. It's not there because it's necessary, it's there to show you that anything can happen, and from then on it does. The first level finally finishes in a dead end, only for a massive alien turtle to burst through the wall, while the third level has you climbing the side of a skyscraper while fending of killer robots, and culminates in a battle with a giant Terminator robot that peers in from the background. And then there's the fourth level, which is still one of my favourite action sequences in any game. From its initial rocket bike chase to its finale that has you jumping between missiles while shooting at an enormous alien mother ship and everything in between, including its pounding theme tune, it's a piece of over the top adrenaline surging madness that only a videogame could get away with. It's almost a relief after that to move on to one of the game's top down perspective levels, which are really never as good as the side scrolling sections but are probably necessary to break up the otherwise relentless pace.

Ridge Racer: It is ridiculous that this only had one track (albeit in two different versions), but I still got more out of trying to perfect a run through it than I did from much more expansive racing games at the time. In fact, I accidentally wiped my save data at one point, so went through and unlocked everything again. It was really about one thing - the perfect drift. It just felt good sliding round the corners and with a light touch trying to keep pointing at the exit, because you'd be rewarded with a speed boost once the tires finally regained their grip. With the final car unlocked, there was no need to brake at all, just let the accelerator off for a second, start sliding, and hold it as long as possible, even round more than one corner in some cases, before blasting off down the straights. A flawless run of 3 laps without clipping any other cars or the scenery was always a thrilling achievement. It's also the only racer I've ever got the hang of in a first person mode, with no car visible on the screen at all, which made it even slicker. That's it really, just a single distilled experience that felt exactly right, time after time.

The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past: When I played this on the SNES, the freshness of my first Zelda should have been something to savour, as even series staples such as lighting torches to open a door were still novel. But an overly helpful tips book combined with lack of will power saw me rush through it. As fully absorbing as it was, I didn't stand back and really admire its atmosphere and intricate design. By the time it got its GBA re-release, though, I was ready to go again, and had fortunately forgotten many of its details. While the Zelda formula had somewhat solidified by this point, making the game feel less original than before, I now fully recognised its genius. From an excellent opening sequence that simultaneously establishes the plot and involves you in it, you're placed in an open world that's carefully organised to guide you to objectives without impeding your sense of freedom. You can go off the critical path, and be rewarded for it, but exploration remains within a compact, tightly arranged space. Journeys to new places in fact often become fascinating conundrums, especially as the light and dark world mechanic forces you to consider how two maps interlock. There are also dungeons, of course, which assemble their rooms into a big multi-floored puzzle, and make the most of the versatile toolkit. Indeed, the 2D design is less prescriptive about your use of equipment such as the hookshot and bombs, granting room for experimentation. The overall result is something endlessly intriguing, constantly surprising, and devilishly clever.

Mark of the Ninja: The main strength of Mark of the Ninja seems to be that of all Klei games, which is the way it lays out all its rules and systems in a clear and consistent visual language. The effect is that at any given moment you can see all your options, and know exactly how each element will react to your decisions, so everything that happens comes from your choices and ability to execute them. This approach is perfect for a 2D ninja game, because it demands a simple, clean field of vision and a character with exact, swift movements. In practice, the results are quite special. You crawl through air ducts, listening to guard chatter, before peaking through a grate to check the contents of the room beyond. Ping a throwing knife off a lampshade to distract a foe and then crawl along the ceiling above him, or wait for him to draw near and drag him into the duct with you. You'll be shifting instantly between hiding spots, smashing lights to create shadows, and dangling spider-like from lamp posts to snaffle guards from above. Always with simple button presses that produce consistently predictable outcomes. Of course, the game keeps up with a fiendish array of obstacles, each adding a new layer to the systems you need to consider, and any mistake leaves you vulnerable. It's an empowering game but never lets you get sloppy. Its dedication to ninja-style precision is unwavering and, like the ninja, it rarely puts a foot wrong.

XCom 2: XCom 2 walks a fine line between brilliance and cruelty, and ranks first among all games for its ability to make you feel relentlessly stressed. Its heavy reliance on percentages is one obvious factor. Especially early on, a clear line of sight still doesn't guarantee a hit, yet you're fighting aliens that can put you down in a second. It's a harsh lesson when everything's riding on a couple of 70% shots, only for both to miss and the enemy to respond mercilessly. The other thing is the way the balance of missions can shift quickly, usually just as you think you've got everything covered. You move a unit forward a little too far and suddenly you're seen by an enemy squad, and have to factor them in to your turn. Even worse when it's a new type of alien, because you've no idea what they might do to you. Of course, you could sneak forward slowly, except many mission objectives have a tight turn limit. It all adds up to one thing - a game based as much on your ability to improvise and react as on your ability to plan. Once you learn to allow for contingencies, keep something in reserve and use every skill at your disposal, progress can be made. You'll be amazed at the brutal situations you're put in, only to be equally amazed minutes later when you realise you've engineered a way out. Not that things don't still go terribly wrong sometimes, but the rewards wouldn't be as great without that risk. And how great they are. I won't forget that final victorious moment in Ironman mode, and the immense relief, joy and satisfaction that few other games can match.

Resident Evil 2: The sequel to Resident Evil is a smoother experience than its predecessor, and also raises the stakes with a broader, bolder vision and larger, more visceral set pieces. Immediately you know things have stepped up a gear, as you're thrown into city streets crawling with zombies. The scenery around you contrasts with the enclosed outbreak of the first game, with its burnt out cars and barricaded doors signifying a more prolonged struggle. Once in the police station it feels more familiar - keys and items to find to access the closed off parts. But the dangers keep changing, and the difference between the two characters' adventures is more pronounced. It keeps you on your toes, yet thankfully gives you a meatier arsenal to compensate. Meanwhile, the eye for cinematic atmosphere building is as good as ever, with the camera angles that stare down at you and the shuffling, pattering sound effects emanating from hideous things just out of view. The introduction of the licker is a particular highlight - first glimpsed running across a window behind you, and then, tension piqued, revealed in its disgusting glory. The major action sequences are also memorable, especially the sewer sequence with its killer alligator. It all amounts to an experience that's willing to run with the great concept established previously and form it into a fully-fledged game.

Journey: Often criticised for not being a game, and it's hard to argue against that, but the reason it works as an experience is in the title. You merely need to travel, over deserts and through ruins, always towards a mountain that towers over the horizon. Why? No idea - it's not the destination that counts. Journey captures a sense of traversing a magical and long forgotten environment, interacting with its ancient machinery and wildlife to advance, and uncovering its secrets along the way. Or, even better, bumping into another player and sharing the trip with them, guiding each other to the most interesting sights for no other reason than the social interaction. It's all part of a 'game' built to capture the surprise and wonder that come with advancing into the unknown. This is further scripted by the constant changes of pace and scenery - from a slow trek under the sun to an exhilarating downhill slide to running scared in darkened tunnels to a brutal climb through a blizzard. And then a joyous finale that rewards you by removing all the fatigue and the effort of travel to set you flying free. Throughout, the mystical atmosphere, expressive colour palette and exceptional soundtrack control the mood expertly. Then, within three hours you're back at the title screen, and even though there's not much beyond a few minor secrets left to find, or maybe another companion, it's worth going again just for the... well, the journey.

Metal Gear Solid: I wasn't going to get Metal Gear Solid until a friend started telling me about some of its weird and wonderful moments (giving away the Psycho Mantis bit, unfortunately), and then I had to give it a try. I definitely had a love-hate relationship with it though, with the love being for almost every element of its gameplay and the hate for its story and cutscenes. The latter were badly written, very slow and long, and not even that interesting. But the game was really special. The stealth, for start, felt new back then and gave you multiple ways of tackling each section. Crawling under furniture and into vents, making noises to attract guards, hiding in cardboard boxes, all great ways of getting about unnoticed, besides using the ingenious variety of tools and weapons. And each section would add a new element - cameras with guns, radar not working, guns not available, and so on. But really it's the unique moments that stick in the mind, from each boss encounter that made you exercise a different set of skills, to the 4th wall breaking moments - the CD case, the torture scene, and of course Mr. Mantis - to just those little touches - cigarettes and lasers, sniping and diazepam. For all the narrative bloat, it was genius game design, and I'd never played anything like it. After I finished it, I played it again and skipped as much dialogue as possible. What an experience that was.

Soul Blazer: The structure of this early SNES action RPG is simple but compelling: enter a new location - village, forest, underwater city - and all the inhabitants are gone, as are the buildings, so you head over to a nearby hostile environment to destroy some monsters, and by doing you start to set free the people, animals and plants that used to live in the area. When you reach a dead end, you return to the settlement to see how things have been restored, talk to everyone (including the wildlife) and solve the odd inventory-based puzzle to open up another part of the local dungeon. It's a neat symbiotic relationship, whereby progress in one side creates new routes in the other, so you're always keen to go back and see what your actions have changed. Other than the mechanics of it, however, and the simple but effective combat, what really stands out is the atmosphere. In one sense there's a haunting vibe to the game, as you enter dreams to relive memories, or see the ghosts of past heroes (such as a dog named Turbo), all against a wonderfully melancholic soundtrack. But there also a feeling of nostalgia, as you learn about the history of each place and gradually bring it back to life, eventually leaving it as a once again functioning community. This visual representation of your achievement provides a warm satisfaction, beyond that of beating each area boss.

Motorstorm RC: This is a very plain and unassuming game, but one of the supreme examples of quick restart, personal best gameplay. The set up is straightforward - small cars, small tracks and incredibly precise handling. It doesn't matter if you're steering a mini with a tight turning circle or executing wide drifts in a muscle car, once you get the feel of how they move the level of control is minute. Mostly it comes down to keeping the car pointing the right way, as you hurtle round corners and try to release the stick so as to hit the perfect line on the straight. From that basic foundation it's a matter of varying the challenge, with the different types of car as well as diverse modes and tracks. Beyond time trialling, actual races against AI opponents add some unpredictability, while some great drift challenges really get you to coax the maximum out of the faster models. Track design, meanwhile, involves a range of distinct environments, filled with features such as jumps, ice and shortcuts to keep you on your toes. Crucially, it all functions in tune with global leaderboards or rivalries with friends to spur you on to ever greater targets. It's that simple addictive joy/frustration of knowing there's another second to cut from your best time, if you can string together some perfect laps - a motivation that kept me playing well beyond simple completion.

Dragon Quest Builders: The appeal is immediate - a simple cycle of building and exploring, guided by the hand of a light RPG quest structure. Scour local surroundings for basic materials, and you can make a room of mud walls, with a fire in one corner, and a straw bed in the other. Accept an errand from one of the characters that hang around and you'll be rewarded with new tools and construction plans. Just as importantly, you'll have collected better materials in the process, opening up further possibilities. And so it goes on. Each mission takes you in a new direction towards new scenery, where with minimal and therapeutic effort you'll mine grander substances then forge them into proper brickwork, attractive roof tiles and sturdy furniture. Beyond the practical elements, however, you'll also gain access to more cosmetic touches - columns, banners, plant pots and decorative porcelain. You can simply follow the blueprints provided to progress through the game, but when you stumble across an abandoned castle on your travels, and ransack it for its fine carpets and chandeliers, it's hard not to start thinking how you might use them to create a grand entrance hall or spruce up the guest bedroom. In all this there's also the Dragon Quest charm, while mildly taxing combat is merely the engine that drives a deeper passion - to painstakingly tinker with your construction until it matches the picture in your mind. Then go to a different land and start all over again. 

International Superstar Soccer Deluxe: When ISS was released, and subsequently improved in its Deluxe incarnation, it changed my expectation of football games. It was a real surprise too, as it looked very much like an arcade style kickabout. Its main achievements all revolved around the move set and control system. The dash button, for one, which could take you away from opposition players, at the expense of swift changes of direction and instant passing or shooting. Beating defenders with an injection of pace was possible, but always tricky, and not necessarily the best option. The context sensitive controls were also very clever. There was no header button, as in some other games, for example. Rather, if the ball was in the air you could perform a headed pass, clearance or shot by pressing the corresponding button, and direct it accordingly. The overall speed was slow, and the shooting lacked power, but even these elements were clearly part of the same vision - an emphasis on intricate build up play through simple passes and pin point crosses, combined with neat, close range finishes. Deluxe refined it in every way, while adding new moves, teammate AI and tactical options. Most importantly, it retained the core philosophy: goals were achievements, hard earned through patient work or flashes of skill. And that felt a lot like football.

Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga: A fresh and breezy take on the Mario experience that incorporates many of its familiar features while gently subverting and poking fun at them. In gameplay terms, it's actually quite unusual to have the brothers really team up, with both characters being controlled together and using combined skills to traverse environmental obstacles. In combat too they can combine for special moves, in a smart system that takes the foundations of RPG turn-based play but adds action elements. In practice, this involves timing jumps and hammer blows to strike or counter enemies, and it works to keep the game flowing with quick encounters that maintain concentration. What's also important, however, is that the game moves its setting away from the Mushroom Kingdom into a new world with its own distinct scenery and inhabitants. On one hand, it's simply pleasant to see different sights and meet different friends and foes. But on the other, it provides space for original plot lines and roles for its core cast. The game takes full advantage of this, introducing a meta aspect to proceedings as Mario, Luigi and Bowser are thrown from their comfort zones and made to reflect on their usual traits and behaviour. It's all communicated well due to a witty and knowing script, which superbly compliments the intuitive and enjoyable gameplay.    

Phantasy Star: The game which introduced me to the JRPG, and immediately made it one of my favourite genres. I never owned it myself, and had already moved on to the Megadrive when a friend who still had his Master System bought it. We started playing it one Saturday and just got completely absorbed by the scale of it and all the characters and story and towns and dungeons. For a good while after that I'd go round most weekends and we'd continue where we left off, the MD not getting a look in. Of course, every feature in the game would now be considered a standard RPG trope, but then it was all fresh. Fighting through the wilderness to finally discover a new town, chatting to residents to learn about the area and its troubles, resting and upgrading equipment, then traversing the huge dungeons to finally gain a reward. The dungeons themselves were first person perspective mazes, and soon we had to start manually mapping them. Each step could trigger a battle, and each battle would be a drain on resources, so judging when to retreat to the nearest town before going back to map some more was all part of the challenge. It was tough going - we used a magazine guide in the end, and still didn't finish it. But it didn't matter. It was easily the most epic (even interplanetary!) adventure I'd played at the time, and opened my eyes to a whole new gaming experience.  

Alex Kidd in Miracle World: For something that initially seemed like a basic platform game there was a surprising amount of depth to this first and best Alex Kidd game. While it still comprised a set of discrete levels, it all linked together into a coherent journey. From the early levels it established a pattern for variety, from a descent through a mountainous area, to swimming in the sea punching an octopus, to riding a motorbike across a rocky landscape. Between all this were the famous boss 'battles' where you had to win a game of rock-paper-scissors against freaky hand-for-head characters to progress. There were further intricacies besides, however, such as hidden areas and shops where you'd acquire items that might come in useful later. Storing up these items for key fights or particularly nasty platform sections (a certain underwater room full of spikes still gives me shivers) added some extra tactical consideration to proceedings, and the key items you had to locate to finish the game gave it that sense of an epic quest. As such, it had a great sense of exploration and discovery, tied into its sound base of tight control and exacting level design. Plus some very catchy tunes.

Front Mission 3: Yet another turn-based strategy game on my list, and one that kept me coming back to the PS1 even after I'd upgraded to the GameCube. I bought it cheap for something to play while waiting for the GC launch and hadn't finished it by the time that came around, but after Monkey Ball and a couple of other games were done I returned and completed it. Then I played it all the way through again. There are two reasons why. The first is that the gameplay, based around fully customisable mechs, was very involving and enjoyable, with a huge campaign full of great battles between small numbers of versatile units (and their pilots). A little less dialogue between fights would've improved things, but otherwise it was excellent. The second reason is down to what happens when you restart the game after finishing it once, and something which took me completely by surprise. It starts the same, but then the story sends your main character off in a different direction and before you know it the characters that were your enemies first time around are now your teammates, and your old chums are now your enemies. The whole campaign plays out similarly to before, but this time with you on the opposite side, and it's great finding yourself viewing things from the other direction.

Shiren the Wanderer: My first experience of the modern roguelike and still the most deftly crafted. It fully embraces the all important random element, in a way that not only determines the layouts of each level but constantly surprises you and forces you to instantly adapt. Although in practice you always have time because it's all turn-based - nothing moves until you do. Unexpectedly surrounded by creatures, faced with a powered-up monster (which probably got that power by killing your companion), or teleported into an unknown area, you consider your options, check your equipment, and hope you've got a suitable response. You learn to focus on contingency plans - try to keep an edible food supply, hold onto herbs, scrolls and magic staves that may save you in a tight spot. If you're lucky enough to find them. It's not all chance, however. Reach villages along your journey and you can stash high quality gear for a later run, when you're in better condition. It's a crucial consideration as items can be very useful, and just as potent against tough enemies as the weaker beasts. The trick is judging when to use your best stuff and when to gamble on saving it. Get the balance right and with a bit of fortune hopes of progress may be satisfied. And when they are it's because the game's wicked unpredictability coaxed out your inner bravery and ingenuity.

Black Tiger: I'm not sure how much I actually played this in the arcades, but whenever I've played it in recent years I seem to have instinctively known what to do. It's one of a minority of arcade games from the late 80s that still plays a good game, and is tough without being too mean. Basically, it's a great example of the old arcade adventure, with platforming and hack 'n' slash elements combined with exploration, shopping and secret stuff. As such, it's best taken slow (despite the inevitable time limit), not only to anticipate and deal with the traps and monsters but also to thoroughly search the environs and maximise loot gathering. Learning where things are and how do deal with them is more important than quick reactions, and full exploration is well rewarded, with extra bonuses (from rescuing old geezers), hidden items and optional 'dungeons' in each level. Maximising this stuff within the time given is key, as you'll need to acquire higher tier upgrades to survive later on. It's not a game you play through once, it's one you discover gradually through repeated efforts, each time progressing further. If there's a flaw it's the bosses, which feel like something of an afterthought and can be quite annoying to boot. Otherwise it's a taxing yet rewarding and distinctive world to be in, and still worth revisiting.

The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask: When Nintendo announced a second Zelda in a single generation, it felt like being given a special treat. In practice, the relatively quick turnaround clearly came from reusing Ocarina assets, but thankfully it was no retread. Rather, not being burdened with the expectations of the N64's flagship adventure game allowed it to take some weird and wonderful directions. The atmosphere is the first shift, from that bright fairy tale style to something much more Grimm. It's dark in palette and in its synthy score, and most of all in the form of that glowering crazy-faced moon that threatens to destroy the world in just a few days. And what about that time limit, that brings a sense of urgency to what you do in each cycle? That, and the way the typical formula of dungeons and toolkit progression is trimmed down, take the game away from its epic pretensions towards something more compact, even claustrophobic. Most of all though it's more personal, both in the mission to restore Link's identity, and even more so in its Groundhog Day style side quests. As you repeat the time cycle you witness each character's routine, you hear their problems and start to piece together timelines with points when meetings might be engineered or desired items could be obtained. It's an RPG town where you learn about the people, their relationships and needs, and want to make them happy, even if they'll soon forget they ever met you.

Atic Atac: In truth this is perhaps not a particularly great game, but it's on the list for two reasons. The first is as a kind of stand in for the whole range of Ultimate Play the Game (later Rare) games that comprised about 50% of everything good to play on the BBC micro. The second is that it was the first game I ever actually completed. As I remember it, you ran around a large haunted mansion/castle, with each screen a different room viewed from above. You threw weapons at monsters, grabbed food, and searched for different coloured keys. There were some particularly nasty monsters you had to avoid - including a mummy and a Frankenstein's monster, I think - and the final aim was simply to unlock and escape through the exit. Like all the Ultimate games it played well, had nice ideas and just generally worked. But it wasn't as labyrinthine as Sabre Wulf, didn't require the precise control of Jet Pac, and wasn't as expansive as Knightlore or Night Shade. So as a youngster I could enjoy its simple pick up and play style more easily, to the point of getting right to the end. And in a time when games mostly just punished you, it was nice to have that gratification.

Super Monaco GP: I doubt this would be very playable now, but at the time this was an advanced form of the racing genre. On one hand a straightforward arcade conversion which could never recreate the big cabinet experience, but on the other a whole F1 'career mode' added in to make it so much more. The driving itself was more involving than the likes of Outrun and other big names from around then. Multiple gears to cycle through and tracks based on the real-life F1 circuits that had to be handled properly. You couldn't just go in and start winning races either. You'd first drive for one of the slower teams, and only when you did well enough would you get offers from the others, until finally you were winning every race for one of the big names. But winning the championship wasn't the end, as the game had a surprise in store. The next season started and a new driver suddenly emerged whose name was a bit like Senna and he started winning all the races (he was literally impossible to beat at this point). Your team ditched you and you had to go back to a slower team and build your reputation again. And of course, in the end, you would do just that and win a second championship. The drama. The satisfaction of revenge. It was the same every time, and I know because I played it over and over.

Tekken 3: After a generation of Street Fighter II, the shift to 3D in fighting games was rarely satisfying, as precision and speed were inevitably compromised. However, Tekken, and particularly Tekken 3, managed to succeed by creating a different kind of depth and flare, rather than directly taking on the old master. Fights were slower paced but busy, as competitors tested different combos, special moves and throws, trying to break through each others' defences at close quarters. In Tekken 3, the side step move literally added a new dimension as it enabled quick dodge and counter play. It wasn't the intense tactical risk-reward play of SF2, but it didn't matter as the game focused on expansive move sets and the element of surprise. In this sense, it was also an advantage that the character roster was so large and varied, because creating a fine-tuned balance between each pair was less important than producing a vast range of permutations. Novelty characters like Gon and Mokujin seemed silly, yet each introduced a new demand on players, as did the explosive styles of more orthodox newcomers such as Hwoarang, and the innovative augmentations to old favourites such as Yoshimitsu. More than anything, this was a very generous package, and one in which competence in multiple characters could be more rewarding than mastery of one. 

Drive Club: I've never cared much for realistic racing simulations, but I certainly don't mind realistic visuals. At a point where I hadn't played a driving game in years and had tired of the genre, Drive Club appealed with its balance of sharp graphics and accessible, enjoyable racing, but I was also surprised at the depth and variety on offer. From the start, the handling made sense, in its slightly arcadey yet not unbelievable manner. From there, getting the most out of each car was exactly the kind of challenge it should be, with constant gradual progress made as you learned its limits and the best line through the courses. The large range of not only cars but also track types and race types (including the entertaining drift mode) made it worth playing through the various single player competitions, while the different race conditions had a real impact on driving and, in the case of heavy rain, were visually stunning. Mostly though it came into its own in time trial competitions on this forum. The ability to set up specific challenges with a deadline and invite people was already impressive - other games could take note. But what really made it was that old-fashioned motivation of a real target that spurs you on to repeat the same lap again and again, trying to hit perfection, and Drive Club's cars were built to make that fun.

Oddworld: Stranger's Wrath: This is an original FPS (partly because you can also switch to 3rd person view) which grants you significant choices in how you play. The range of 'live ammo' which takes the form of various little beasties with sticky, explosive and other properties is one aspect of this, and quite an amusing one too. You aren't simply blasting away much of the time, but setting traps or immobilising foes with noxious gas. It's a system that integrates smoothly with the main character's job as bounty hunter, and the crucial decision that comes with it - whether to take your targets dead or alive. The latter is tougher, as you wear them down and close in to tie them up, and it's often tempting, if less well rewarded, to finish them quickly with deadly firepower or by luring them into environmental hazards. But of course, Stranger's Wrath is really best known for having one of videogames' big plot twists. It is a good one, and a real surprise because it causes a complete change in dynamic that immediately reconfigures everything you've done, and your purpose for the rest of the game. At first it seems 'odd' to have ditched the complimentary relationship of tools and objectives created by the bounty hunting missions, but it's all quickly forgotten in a thrilling escalation of scale and pace, while the tool set opens up more to give you even greater creative control.  

Half-Life: There's a bit of a different reason for including this, and in fact it's not a game I even played through to the end. What I did play was an accomplished FPS with a tense atmosphere generated by its locations and nasty alien monsters, as well as some clever set pieces that significantly shook up the formula. But more importantly it was the only game I've ever used for its modding tools, in a period when I had a decent PC and was interested in a career in game design. To get some practice in I learned how to build levels and employ a whole load of conditional triggers to make moving parts and scripted events. I made intricate lift systems, laser grids and a lab full of caged aliens that might burst out of their enclosures when you least expected it. The tools were relatively straightforward to grasp and allowed for surprising versatility in what could be built. I spent many an hour making textures line up right or changing scenery around to create cover positions for gun fights, and was quite pleased with the results. I never did work in game design, but it's something I'll always enjoy dabbling in, and this was the one point I had the time to go a little deeper.    

EA Hockey: I don’t know what playing ice hockey feels like, but something about this game just seemed to have it right. I could play it repeatedly, picking any team and going through the international tournament, and generally winning because I’d long since learned all the most effective moves and AI foibles. But it didn’t get boring simply because movement around the rink was such a pleasure and the range of shots and tackles were all made intuitive through their superbly conveyed weight and momentum. Crucially, of course, it wasn’t about running in straight lines, as in a football game, but gliding in smooth curves, whether to weave between opposition defenders or intercept a breaking attacker bearing down on your goal. In a time when sports games were still quite simple, having so much skill and judgement attached to the process of manoeuvring around the play area added a whole new dimension. Then the passing was neat and snappy, and the body checks crunching and heavy (even provoking the affronted party into a brawl on occasion). But nothing was quite as satisfying as scoring with a slap shot. Get through on goal, slow down slightly, shift the puck on your right, hold the button to wind it up, and let fly into the corner. Majestic.

Elite: I didn't actually play Elite much. I was pretty young when we got it on our BBC B computer and controlling the ship was a bit too tricky for me then. But my older brother played it. A lot. And I ended up watching quite a lot. He was very good at it too - never reached 'Elite' rank for some reason, and instead got stuck on 'Deadly' for ages - heading to the most dangerous planets to trade the most profitable goods and winning fights with even the tougher enemies. Looking back now there wasn't really that much to it - travel from one space station to the next, buying and selling goods, upgrading your ship, and sometimes shooting stuff in between - but it allowed a freedom of choice in terms of what you traded and where you went that would affect how the different kinds of ships you encountered would react to you. It was very advanced compared to anything else around at the time, and the dogfights against Thargoids and so on always seemed thrilling and significant, even though the ship models were incredibly basic. Imagination filled in the gaps, but the scope for that was provided by that remarkably robust (wire) framework.

Sin and Punishment 2: A great combination of Treasure's design flare and the Wii's controller. In essence it's an into-the-screen shooter, but one that constantly twists the perspective around to create a thrillingly unpredictable ride. The mechanics are relatively simple. You jetpack around the screen shooting at whatever's in front of you, and slashing at anything that gets too close. Lock-on missiles target multiple opponents, enabling you to down the regular swarms of smaller enemies, or you concentrate fire in one place, crucial for damaging the many bosses while evading their intricate attack patterns. The pointer functionality is the perfectly tool for the job, providing a precision aim that's easily coordinated with movement, dodges and parries - essential given how the projectiles rain down and enemies fly relentlessly towards you. From here, the key to the game's success is its excellent level design. From sky surfing through cities blasting cannon fodder to being pursued by a huge, fire-clawed monster, or weaving between giant worms in an underwater tunnel to facing a flying sword duel, you're always being thrown into battle from a different angle with different demands on your skill set. The pace is breathless, the challenge exacting, and the whole experience rarely less than spectacular.

Trials Evolution: Another game in the 'if only I was better at it' category. I can totally appreciate the incredibly subtle and precise control it offers, but lack sufficient subtlety and precision myself to really master it. I only bought it cheap and on the promise of forum time trial competitions, having previously assumed it wouldn't be to my taste. But on playing it the appeal was immediate, because there's something very intuitive about that single task of matching the angle and momentum of the bike to the undulations of the track. What reveals itself more gradually, however (even after watching replays of better players), is how much more is involved to really find and maintain optimum lines, always within the confines of that simple yet infinitely variable analogue control system. An imperfect angle or weight distribution can lead to a missed transition and a poor time, or, as the tracks get more deliriously fiendish and outlandish, a crumpled heap of rider and machine. Thankfully, the short track lengths and instant restarts mitigate the frustration to some degree. They also make it difficult to stop playing - just repeating that same stretch over and over until it's right, exactly as you'd been imagining it for the past hour, or at least good enough to scrape ahead of your nearest rival.   

Smash Tennis: People always talk of Super Tennis as the tennis game to play on the SNES, and for a long time it was, but later in the machine's life this came along and was at least as playable, with one crucial added feature - a 4 player mode. Importantly, it was also an easy game to pick up and play, which made the bar for entry low and meant you could have a good doubles game even if everyone wasn't very experienced. The controls were simpler than Super Tennis, even though the range of shots was still there once you got used to the finer points. And while it played a similarly quick and fun game of tennis, it had a sillier vibe, with cartoon graphics, funky music and novelty court locations in place of any pretensions to simulation. There was of course a solid single player campaign type mode, but most of all it really came alive when you got 4 players together, which I did fairly regularly in those days. Matches were often packed with long and increasingly absurd rallies, full of last ditch retrievals and diving saves, which generated all the hilarity and arguments that the many of the best same room multiplayer games tend to do. 

Nex Machina: This is a twin-stick shooter which obviously works brilliantly as a piece of twitch gaming, but also layers its gameplay in so many ways that its challenge can go however deep you may want. It's possible to simply finish the game quickly if you desire, and enjoy its relentless, expertly crafted and presented action. But at that point, even though you've seen many of the levels, it's arguable that you haven't really played it yet. The huge range of optional elements in each world, from hidden stages to rescuing humans and much more besides, might just seem like high score chasing, and certainly that's a part of it. However, as you connect together these extras and learn the layouts and enemy positions, the game becomes less about reacting to onscreen mayhem, and more a matter of perfectly executing a self-choreographed performance. And the final, crucial piece of this is the 'human combo', which sees you trying to space out human rescues at regular intervals to maintain a chain of rescues across the levels. It's this that links together all the individual tasks, and turns a series of moments into a single seamless flow that's immensely satisfying when it finally goes exactly as you envisaged it.

1080 Snowboarding: At a time when almost everything Nintendo did resulted in the best version of that thing available, but cool things like extreme sports were the Playstation's domain, they tried their hand at snowboarding, and it was the best version available. It even managed a bit of cool itself, with its funky, sample-filled soundtrack, but more important was the way it nailed the control, the course design, and the snow. The crucial aspect of the controls was using subtle analogue stick adjustments to keep your board level with the gradient of the surface, along with the crouch button, applied judiciously to add speed, prepare for jumps, and cushion landings. There were tricks too, but mastering the timing of jumps, crouches and weight shifts was the core challenge. Then the courses were big and varied, with multiple routes, the fastest of which required expert navigation to reach and maintain. And the snow? Well, it was different types of snow, and ice, which actually felt different as you slid along them. Go in the deeper stuff and it slows you down and makes jumping tougher. Hit an ice sheet and balance becomes much more difficult. Add all these factors together and it's amazing how much variety and depth there could be in sliding down mountains.

Legendary Axe: In the brief spell that I owned a PC Engine, in the early days of grey importing, games weren't that easy to acquire. Usually I'd send a cheque to a mail order company that had advertised in a games magazine and waited, often for weeks. And then they might be out of stock. So when I finally got my hands on one of the top rated games on the machine I made the most of it. Fortunately, Legendary Axe didn't disappoint. It's actually a fairly straightforward Rastan style platform hack 'em up, but a very well made one. It has bold graphics (impressive at the time), a good variety of locations, nice enemy design and some beefy bosses. It controls well, and offers a decent but fair challenge. Most important, however, is the level design, which starts off incredibly simple and gets increasingly expansive with each level, eventually culminating in a labyrinth of interconnecting doors and dead ends. In truth, it's hard to argue this is anything really special now, but it was about as good as an arcade action game of that type got in those days, and even once I'd finished it I was happy to play through it over and over until the next game arrived.

Tomb Raider/Tomb Raider: Anniversary: Tomb Raider, along with Mario 64, was one of the first games to really show off the potential of 3D space in games. A lot of the early PS1 games still ostensibly worked in two dimensions despite the graphics, and the dimension that was usually missing was height. It seems odd to say it now, but it was quite a different experience to find yourself looking for a route and have to consider what was above or below you, or that you might need to climb up to a hole in the ceiling of a cavern. Apart from that, Tomb Raider had some great level design, with its clever puzzles and traps, and imaginative set pieces. And crucially you really felt alone in these huge underground ruins with only your wits to get you through. It's this aspect that's been diluted in recent versions, to create a more streamlined experience, but one which lacks the need for thought and sense of risk in the original. It's also why the remake, Anniversary, worked well, because it kept the level design but smoothed out some problem areas: indistinct textures, awkward camera, digital control. QTEs were a poor addition, and the combat still wasn't great, but it was never the game's main feature. These are the best Tomb Raider games primarily because climbing a rock wall remains an uncertain and dangerous venture.

Mischief Makers: Mischief Makers is vintage Treasure, with their trademark of introducing a single original concept and taking it beyond expectations with endlessly inventive level and character design. Here, the side scrolling platformer is given that spark with the ability to grab, shake and throw many of the game's contents. Grab NPCs, grab floating platforms, grab a bike to ride it, grab incoming projectiles and send them back. Then "Shake! Shake!" to release diamonds, boomerangs and other items, and maybe collect them in a pot and shake that to create new stuff. It's a versatile mechanic  that allows for varied objectives to emerge in levels, from finding ingredients to create bombs to putting friendly NPCs in the pot to carry them to their destination. Or, due to some oddball scenarios, you find yourself taking part in a series of sports day events, before quickly shifting to a fast paced and imaginative boss encounter. In short, you're always doing something different, but the diverse activities all flow together with the same underlying logic. Whether returning lost children to a parent, hopping between tricky platforms, or battling a giant transforming robot, the verbs are always the same - jump, grab, shake, throw - being continually, brilliantly re-purposed in amusing and surprising ways.

Vanquish: At first I didn't get this. The sci-fi setting and characters were cliched, and the cover shooting mechanics weren't as neat at other games. But on going back to it I found it was prime Platinum fare, which means the story aspects are still pretty bad, but there's an original, enthralling and exacting game behind them, just waiting for you to click with it. The key is really that it's a third-person cover shooter where you break cover. It's built around a move set that wants you to be more daring, get out there, and get away with it. A dodge roll that triggers valuable seconds of slow motion, a boost that sends you knee-sliding forward at great speed, and a hefty melee attack combine to great effect. You hit cover to reload or recharge energy, but only briefly before diving out again. As with Bayonetta, when it starts to come together you're in a rhythm, with the actions flowing together instinctively and the result a mesmerising display of acrobatic gun play. The scoring system encourages you to repeat each part, quicker and more smoothly, until you create that expert performance. It's not all one note - notably there are some great boss battles as well as turret and sniper sections to change the pace. But it's that core idea of enticing you out of cover that makes it a real thrill.

Star Control: A PC to Megadrive conversion that seemed a weird fit at the start, with some rather piddly graphics and an odd campaign that involved capturing spaces on a grid. But for the most part I just played the straight vs battle mode against the CPU, where you picked one of the two fleets of seven spaceships and had one-on-one fights until one side's ships were all destroyed. The actual action comprised a view of space from above the ships that zoomed out to keep them both onscreen even when far apart. There were asteroids and a planet in there too, which would cause damage if you hit them, and the planet's gravitational pull also affected movement. That was it. The reason it was good was simply that every ship was wildly different, both in size and weaponry. In particular, the big dreadnoughts were massively more powerful than the little scout ships, and yet any match up was winnable with the right strategy. There was skill involved, but it was also about using each ship's attributes and unique abilities, as well as the scenery, to maximum advantage. The Davids could take on the Goliaths and (sometimes) win, and then fight it out amongst each other. I spent many hours mastering the tactics required to win all the different matches and mismatches.

Striker/World Cup Striker: Striker is a football game, but it doesn't play that much like football. It's comically fast, passing isn't as necessary as it should be, and sliding tackles are so brutal it's amazing you ever get away with them. Most of the time (versus a human opponent) you're running with the ball stuck to your feet, trying to  get to certain sweet spots for a guaranteed score, or chasing the other guy with the ball stuck to his feet, to either deftly nick it off him or just flatten him. It doesn't sound much, but it's extremely good fun, and when your opponent knows all the angles you do, working an opportunity isn't so straightforward. The sheer speed of play makes for a relentless back and forth, with a flow more like basketball, and the scores reflect it. The 5-a-side indoor mode was especially enjoyable, with the shorter pitch and fewer players suiting this style perfectly. It was disappointing when the sequel, World Cup Striker, ditched it, but it brought something else - a 4 player mode. It also played a slightly more advanced game, with fewer clear sweet spots and better passing, but coordinating moves with a teammate took it to another level. Less hilarious than the original, perhaps, but certainly deeper, and equally good when you had enough mates around.

Bastion: Talk about Bastion and you talk about its real-time narration, in which a gravel-voiced old-timer tells the story of your adventure as it's crafted by your actions. At the very least, it's a neat trick, even if its mechanisms are transparent - a certain action in a certain context triggers a certain recorded comment. But its clever implementation in fact turns it into a form of personalised feedback on your play style, achievements and mistakes, and a way of making you reflect on some of your strange behaviour within games (like obsessively smashing up furniture). It's also well augmented by an excellent soundtrack, as well as a visual effect that makes the world appear around you as you walk, accentuating that idea of the story emerging with your input. As for the gameplay, at base it is merely a 2D action game, with an array of short and long range weapons to tussle with various beasties in its isometric environments. Yet the world, level and creature designs are accomplished, the controls are slick, and the weapons especially stand out for their aesthetic and tactical variety, not to mention for simply being fun to use. It would be a compelling challenge without the audiovisual flourishes, then, but it's that bit more meaningful with them.

Chuckie Egg: In a time rife with imaginative platform games, Chuckie Egg stood out because it was a slicker, more playable and relatively forgiving experience. Perhaps crucially, you had to run away from the killer birds that stalked the levels, rather than jump over them, which mitigated the need to continuously make pixel-perfect leaps. In a way it worked more like Pac-Man, as your rotund farmer sprite ran around screens made up of platforms, ladders and lifts trying to collect eggs as the deadly emu things went about their business. There were still gaps to jump and precision was required, but the onus was on finding optimum routes and not boxing yourself in, while character movement was pacy and tight. Then, when you were comfortable with all that, the challenge escalated in a simultaneously daft yet brutal manner. The first time through the game, a large mother bird (resembling a rubber duck) inexplicably sits in a cage in the corner of the screen, simply watching your endeavours. Second time round, the bird is unleashed, and you have to do it all over while continuously being chased. It seems obscenely unfair at first, but you learn to keep moving, and exploit its cumbersome movement, until you appreciate it as a new dimension to the already accomplished formula.

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Parodius: Parodius is Gradius but mental. The gameplay is straight horizontally scrolling shooter territory, with waves of small enemies, gun emplacements, and some heftier adversaries and boss encounters. But here the main small enemies are blue penguins and flying chicks, the gun emplacements are clowns or sumo wrestlers, and the bigger adversaries include a cat-pirate ship hybrid and a gigantic belly dancer. Your own craft, meanwhile, can be a spaceship, or it can be an octopus. This madness is brilliantly tied together by the music - a bizarre mix of classical works given a relentlessly joyful fairground makeover. In truth, it really is just the aesthetic silliness (and variety) of it all that makes Parodius the pleasure it is, and raises it above the solid but unspectacular series that inspired it. In fact, underneath it all is a tough difficulty curve that demands practice and restarts - in a way it's disappointing that the game's sense of fun doesn't extend to letting you enjoy its wares more easily. But it's all forgiven when you arrive at the end of a level, there's a brief lull, and then the can-can music kicks in and a troop of dancing lips parades across the screen.

Dishonored: It wasn't until towards the end of my first run through Dishonored that I really began to enjoy it. The reason is that it gets better as you unlock more of your supernatural powers, and if you don't go for the more interesting ones early on it limits your creative potential, especially if you're trying not to kill anyone. Of course, the game has some strong design qualities even when you are restricted to simple hiding and sneaking, along with your base short teleport skill. Most notably there's the verticality of the environments and the amount of stuff to find. Explore diligently and you'll not only discover useful goods and side quests but also information that may provide alternative ways of taking out your targets. Plus there are some truly memorable levels, such as the brothel and the masked ball, which add new dimensions to the stealth formula. But it's the powers that make it fun. The standard cheeky move is that of teleporting in behind a guard, knocking him out, grabbing the body, and teleporting out. But add in options like freezing time, or possessing animals and humans, and the possibilities for mischief multiply. With this knowledge gained from the first run, the second run was supremely entertaining from the start.

Spelunky: In the modern roguelike revival, Spelunky is undoubtedly one of the kings. Like Shiren, it remains unpredictable and routinely creates layouts that force you to improvise to stay alive. The theme of each world never changes, but although you get used to dealing with their furniture and inhabitants the game never lets you really get comfortable. Sometimes it hits you with a particularly unpleasant arrangement of its traps and monsters, while other times the level themselves mutate, with darkness, the undead or a river full of piranhas posing new problems. It's also a game where things can go wrong quickly, and it's usually your fault, as you try to grab too many gold bars or carry items or distressed damsels across levels. It's infuriating because the cost of mistakes often far outweighs the benefits, but when you know you could have taken an easier route and the avoided trouble, it's frustration that's often directed inward. It's the same with managing your supply of bombs and ropes - you want to save them till later, but hold back too much and you may not see later at all. In truth, I always found the balance just slightly too punishing, especially in later levels when single errors often mean instant death. Even so, I was willing to perservere at least to the regular ending, which was achievement enough for me.

OP needs a link to each person's list.

Did I include Sokoban and SkyRoads? Hope so...

Aha. Ta.

Neither are in my list in fact my list sucks

Yeah, I had thought that.

Moron

Wow. Commitment.

Boo.  I thought Jon was updating as he went along, just settled down to read the story so far.

Jon B writing what I can't be bothered to write, and better, since 2017 (and probably earlier.)

Didn't read all, read all of stuff I've played, plus some I'm interested in playing.

Preach re: dark souls, Mark of the ninja, MGSV and a few others.