I Dream Of Berries

“So where’ve you been for the past 557 years?”

If you’ve been following my ass on social networks, you have no doubt noticed me going all-out apeshit about something called the “SpaceVenture.” Well, I have already pontificated about this in my previous post, but a lot of stuff has happened since then.

Okay, so you know by now: My computer game heroes of my adolescence in the 90’s, The Two Guys From Andromeda, have reunited after being estranged for some 20 years. They have formed Guys From Andromeda LLC, a game company, with the promise of getting back to their old ways of designing some of the best adventure games the world has ever seen.

Since they can’t get the rights to their previous games, the Space Quest series, the first game is going to be a new one: This is what’s called the “SpaceVenture.”

Like Tex Murphy and Jane Jensen’s Pinkerton Road Studios, the Two Guys are using Kickstarter to fund their game.

Now, here’s where I’ve been in all this:

For the past couple of weeks I have been deeply embroiled in a widespread fan effort to attract attention and gain support for this Kickstarter campaign.

And let me tell you, from the inside, it’s a sight to behold. I used to joke that I could get up in a lecture hall and give the most boring, excruciatingly lengthy talk about adventure games, and Space Quest in particular, if anyone would ever let me. I never knew so many people would, theoretically, actually be interested.

By that I mean that the fan support has been overwhelmingly outstanding. People have rallied to their favorite forums to ask people to support, but they haven’t been copy-pasting spam comments — they have been genuinely doing this out of love for the old series. I know I’m supposed to make a joke here to quell the strings-and-chemical-tears moment, but I can’t think of anything. It really is great to watch.

Myself, I have been cast in the role as witless ring leader, owing to my regular contact with Guys From Andromeda handler and (probably) executive producer of the SpaceVenture, Chris Pope (@thechrispope), as well as The Two Guys themselves, Scott Murphy and Mark Crowe (@SlashVohaul and @WilcoFever, respectively), via e-mail and, yes, the occasional video chat.

And yes, let me tell you, signing on to Skype one sunny spring-y afternoon, watching the names “Mark Crowe” and “Scott Murphy” appear in the contact list, I could have just as easily pissed my pants and died happy right there. Okay, that sounds overly romantic. But hey, if you’ve ever played Space Quest, what would you do if you saw this?

(Screenshot doctored to protect the somewhat innocent.)

Followed, quite closely, by this:

I’m sorry, I don’t mean to show off. But I was happy as a clam. However happy a clam might be. Thrilled, in fact. More than a little starstruck. Also, more than a little nervous, stuttery and with the sort of dozy mumbling that usually accompanies accelerated heart rate, sweaty palms and a complete sucking vacuum where my brain used to be.

That first chat, we talked for two hours about, well, everything and nothing, really. A lot of Space Quest stuff, of course. Some secret stuff I wasn’t allowed to share, but has since become public knowledge, such as the amazing voice talent Chris Pope had managed to secure for the Kickstarter (the voice of Pinky from Pinky And The Brain, for instance). As well as stuff I’m still not allowed to share.

And some very secret stuff I can’t share with anyone lest I wish to acquaint myself with the stabby feeling of stupid doom.

Yeah, I admit, I get a kick out of being cryptic. So shoot me.

Anyway. All of this means I now find myself completely immersed in organizing and mobilizing a fan effort — which, thankfully, is not that hard, ‘cos these are some hardcore dedicated sumbitches — and consequently spending every waking moment checking the fan forums at SpaceQuest.net (the fan effort has a secret forum of our own that no one’s allowed into, shhh) and watching my e-mail like a hawk. That is, when I’m not doing stuff at work I actually get paid for, or sleeping next to my poor wife, who at this point must be starting to feel a bit neglected.

The point is, though, I’m loving this. And the reason why I get to do it is really the reason why I love it so much. So there; how’s that for an ouroborous of reasoning for you.

The reason I get to do this is because I spent my formative years as a stupid teenager obsessively playing the Space Quest games and constantly getting on the pecs of the designers, artists, programmers and other employees of that magical, far-off wonderplace called Sierra On-Line.

I got pretty chummy with a few of them, and some very polite e-mails from the rest of them. My rap sheet of unpursued harrassment suits included Jane Jensen, Al Lowe, Josh Mandel, Ken Williams, Craig Alexander (CEO), Cindy Vanous (Sierra.com webmaster), Michael Hutchence (artist), William Shockley (programmer), Leslie Balfour (designer), Sean Murphy (Dynamix artist) … and, yes, Scott Murphy and Mark Crowe.

Then the company went belly-up and I sort of forgot about my years as a super-nerd, went to university (drunk), got married (sober), got a job in Communications and was well on my way to becoming, hopefully, established as one of those annoying people who hold lectures explaining in very simple terms what the difference between Twitter and Facebook is. Well, I still am, actually. That’s still my day job.

My moonlighting gig, however, is now helping these Two Guys succeed in their venture. Because it’s not just about seeing a new science fiction comedy adventure game. To me, it has been an opportunity to rekindle something that was lost somewhere between 10 and 15 years ago; something I didn’t realize I missed until it, seemingly by serendipity, fell back into my lap like an over-tired, obese tabby, only a few months ago.

A few months ago, I started playing Space Quest I: The Sarien Encounter, one lazy weekend morning. I found out, much to my surprised delight, that I had the power to save the galaxy in a little under an hour; and all before breakfast, even.

By a strange coincidence, I had recently become very well acquainted with the social network Google Plus, because that’s what I’m being paid to keep an eye on, and become deeply infatuated with it, despite what its many critics (sometimes rightfully) say. I noticed there wasn’t much of a Space Questey presence there, so I started the Roger Wilco Google+ Page. The idea was to just post random pictures of moments from the Space Quest series with the odd stupid comment.

But then, quickly, things picked up speed. You’ve already (probably) read about how I was contacted by Scott Murphy, asked to sign a NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement), and how I was subsequently contacted by Chris Pope, letting me in on the fact that The Two Guys From Andromeda were, in fact, back together again, 20 years after the fact, and that they were going to be making another game.

What’s happened since then is that their Kickstarter campaign launched, and I am now entrenched as the glorious leader of a tightly knit band of rebels who … oh, who am I kidding. We’re a bunch of happy-go-lucky, very devoted Space Quest fans who really, truly want to see this new company succeed.

So there. That’s what I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks. Well, the past month, really. And that’s why I’ve probably been a bit hard to get a hold of.

Unless, of course, you’re in the Space Quest community. Then you’ve been hearing from me a lot these past weeks.

If you’ve read this far, not knowing what the hell I’ve been blabbing about, please reward yourself by going to www.tgakick.com and pledging just a few bucks. $15 oughta do it. Every time we get $100.000 closer to the final mark, we get a special “Prototype demo” showcasing a glimpse into the creative process of making a game. And if we reach our mark of $500.000, we’ll be happy and satisfied knowing that we succeeded in bringing space comedy back into the world — despite big game companies telling us we are not interested in that.

It’s not just about Space Quest, or The Two Guys From Andromeda, or what I got up to in my teenage room at night (it wasn’t just playing games — rarely, I would read a book … or masturbate). It’s about the world of gaming in general. We are finally breaking the mold of these crusty old institutions who would dictate to us what we are and aren’t interested in playing.

For that reason, if for nothing else, I urge you to pledge to The Two Guys’ Kickstarter. I know there are many other Kickstarters, and I know there are many other Kickstarters for adventure games. They also deserve your support, because they are also, like this one, a big part of bringing this change about in the gaming world. They all deserve your support.

But if you choose to support this one in particular, I might be able to one day tell you that really, really secret thing I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone. Stabby feeling of stupid doom be damned.

The Two Guys from Andromeda are back

Pinch me; I’m in the fucking Matrix.

Apparently, I live in some magic dimension where suddenly I’m getting e-mails out of the blue from people I have been a fan of since I was 10 years old, asking me if I’ll help out on their new stuff.

Two weeks ago, I got an e-mail from Scott Murphy, one half of the duo known as The Two Guys from Andromeda. If that doesn’t ring a bell, well, allow me to fill you in.

These are The Two Guys from Andromeda. Well, it’s a digital reproduction of themselves. On this planet, er, they’re known as Scott Murphy and Mark Crowe, a programmer and graphic artist, respectively, for Sierra On-Line, a game company best known for publishing Half-Life … er, I mean, creating and publishing some of the finest adventure game series of all time, and also, you know, sort of inventing the whole graphic adventure thing.

From 1989 to 1994, The Two Guys collaborated on some of the most infuriating, anarchic, sarcastic and sidesplittingly funny adventure games known as the Space Quest series. Not just another run-of-the-mill save the galaxy affair, Space Quest was as fiercely self-aware as it was self-deprecating; its biggest selling point being the many gruesome death situations you could get the main character, hapless space janitor Roger Wilco, into.

As an infatuated adolescent, I played and replayed and played again these games, obsessively, until I felt compelled to turn my obsession into a shared obsession. My first exposure to the Internet (capitalized for nostalgia’s sake) was in the local library, and my first Internet search was for Space Quest. Lo and behold, up came the first Space Quest fan-site known to man, The Virtual Broomcloset.

It was run by a guy named Jess Morrissette, who was quick to assure everyone that he was not a girl and his first name was, in fact, short for Jesse. Or Jessee. Or something. But not Jessica. In a fit of excitement, I actually wrote the man a letter. Not having an e-mail address yet, it was the sort of thing that actually goes in an envelope and has to travel long distances before it gets read.

To my surprise, he actually wrote me back. And that sparked a long-lasting friendship that continues to this day. Suddenly I had found my outlet for my obsession. I began contributing to his site regularly, culminating with the release of what became the Space Quest FAQ - a massive tome of all Space Quest related knowledge. A sort of precursor to the Space Quest Omnipedia.

In the course of all this madness, I discovered that the e-mail address policy at Sierra On-Line - the company responsible for these wonderful games - all followed a similar pattern: first name, dot, last name, at sierra dot com. Well, that was easy. Before they knew what hit ‘em, the poor creative geniuses at Sierra, previously ensconced in the privacy of the fresh Oakhurst air, were suddenly overwhelmed with fan e-mails demanding news on their favorite janitor.

The decision to cancel Space Quest 7 following a lacklustre FMV preview that we later learned had nothing to do with the planned SQ7 design - a design that sole remaining designer Scott Murphy would later liken to the sort of unnameable horrors you would find in programmer convention bathrooms - brought on the end of a glorious era of gleeful, unapologetically sycophantic fan behavior, none moreso than from yours truly.

Before that, cracks were already starting to appear. After Space Quest 4 in 1994, The Two Guys announced that they had parted ways, in what was later learned to be on acrimonious terms. Mark Crowe moved to Dynamix, a sister company of Sierra located in Oregon, and even though Sierra still wanted a fifth Space Quest game, somehow Mark ended up designing it at his new digs in Canada.

Meanwhile, Scott Murphy, still located in Oakhurst, was programming Police Quest games when he was asked to take the reigns of the sixth Space Quest game. Scott’s heart wasn’t really in it, but together with unofficial Third Guy from Andromeda, Josh Mandel, he designed Space Quest 6 - a game plagued with internal conflict that culminated with Josh leaving the project and Sierra altogether before the game was finished.

Soon afterwards, Sierra On-Line imploded in on itself and was sold off to a French company. This was in 1999. Then it merged with Blizzard Entertaiment and started publishing other studios’ games.

Adventure games were long dead at this point; the last great one being LucasArts’ Grim Fandango. Sierra was busy running the King’s Quest series into the ground with Mask of Eternity before completely packing it in with said corporate sale and firing every creative mind on the staff. Scott Murphy and Mark Crowe were no longer with Sierra On-Line, and the Sierra On-Line we had all known and loved was effectively dead.

The acrimonious split between The Two Guys was revealed much later in a rare interview with Scott Murphy, where he basically called Mark Crowe a backstabbing bastard. Okay, not in those words. But in Scott’s precise words, Mark Crowe - very recently, as in within the last couple of months I believe - read about the interview, wrote Scott an e-mail, and said that if Scott really was so pissed at him that he wanted to punch him, he would gladly fly up and let him do so.

Instead of a one-sided punch-up materializing, bonds were instead mended and before you can say “see you on the chronostream,” the decision to collaborate once more was made.

Only problem was, Mark Crowe was legally tied up at the company he worked at. But the decision was made. The Two Guys would resurface. That’s when they - at first, Scott - quietly e-mailed me and told me not to tell anyone. In fact, he made me sign a non-disclosure agreement before telling me.

That dam broke today. The news is out. The Two Guys are back. And they’re making a new game.

My role in all this is to be cheerleader and supporter and generally pitch in whenever needed. And to field any fan comments to the source of all this merriment whenever possible and appropriate. And also when not appropriate. Basically, kicking back into high gear like it was 1997 all over again.

This is one of those things you never think happens, and then it does. And just a week ago, by an almost serendipitous coincidence, fellow Space Quest fan and writer Daniel Stacey and I mended our differences that had resulted in staunchly maintaining a 12 year radio silence, and started hanging out and giving each other virtual sponge baths again.

I don’t really know what more to say at this point. It’s official. 2012 is the best year of my life.

Visit The Two Guys from Andromeda and learn more about the new game they’re making. Hit ‘em up on Facebook and on Twitter. And keep up on my Roger Wilco profile on Google+ where I’ll be resuming my duties as gleeful sycophant. Because damn it, someone has to. And that someone is me. It’s good to be back.

Why you’re probably using Google Plus wrong

All right. I originally wrote this on Google Plus, then immediately realized, no one will read it because most of my friends are using Google Plus wrong, too. Or, to be more accurate, not at all. Because they think it’s Facebook in a white color scheme.

Myth: No one uses Google+ except Google employees.

I’m here, so wtf.

Myth: No one uses Google+ because they’re all on Facebook.

Yeah, if you expected G+ to be exactly like Facebook, of course you’re going to have a bad experience. That’s because it’s not like Facebook. This is something even Google employees need to start getting their heads around.

Myth: No one uses Google+ except social media experts.

It’s true, G+ has become sort of a meta-cave for people to talk about social media. But if that’s the only conversation you’ve seen so far, you need to fill up your Circles with some new friends. Try the Sparks thing. That’s really the point of this whole thing, in case you didn’t know that.

Myth: Everyone uses Google+ to repost shit they found on other social networks.

Yeah, if you’re using it wrong. I suppose this is why they put the “Explore” tab so damn high up in the new G+ design.

Fact: The new design is harder to use, not easier, and Google would be better off expending their energies on building a better experience, not getting into the whole “we want to steal the show from Facebook” thing again.

Fact: The G+ mobile app is laughable. But then again, so is Facebook’s.

Jane Jensen and Leisure Suit Larry come out

Er, yeah, that sounds like a tabloid headline. But too much good has been happening in the world of adventure games in this blessed year of 2012. Seriously, this is like that graveyard scene in Return of the Living Dead.

No, not that one.

Ahem.  Anyway, remember this guy?

Yeah, he’s not coming back. But the woman who invented him is. Astute followers of the literary arts may recall her name being Jane Jensen, and the handsome if bewildered fellow above is her creation, Gabriel Knight. They were some of latter-day Sierra’s best products — oh, who are we kidding, they were probably the last great thing to come out of that place before they started publishing Half-Life games.  Not that there’s anything wrong with Half-Life … oh, never mind.

Anyway, Jane has started Pinkerton Road Studios with her husband, Robert Holmes, who also wrote the music for the Gabriel Knight games. They are using Kickstarter to decide which game they will be making first — the kicker being that each of their three contestants are old-school mystery adventure games.

And then there’s this guy:

Yeah, he is coming back.

Leisure Suit Larry creator (and saxophone virtuoso) Al Lowe is on board recreating the original Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards. And they plan to remake the entire series. With voices.

If that involves Jan Rabson as Larry and Neil Ross as the narrator, like in Larry 6 and Larry 7, we’re in for a treat.

The only downside to all this is that it’s suddenly getting to be very expensive to be an adventure game fan again. Although with this amount of coolness brewing, one can hardly complain.

2012: The Year Adventure Games Rose from the Dead. And Made Contact. (Sir Clarke, eat your heart out.)

And I’m almost out of bourbon

My name’s Tex Murphy. I’m a private investigator. Or at least I used to be. Since my marriage hit the rocks I haven’t done much of anything. I went out tonight for the first time in a week, but all I ended up doing was spending the last of my money on a bottle of cheap bourbon.

Now it’s past midnight and I’m staring out the Ritz Hotel. Just like me, the Ritz used to be something. Now it’s just another grimy building in a run-down part of town.

And I’m almost out of bourbon.

I just recited that (mostly) from memory. That’s because Under a Killing Moon is so deeply ingrained in my early adolescent memory that fundamentalist Qur’an school teachers would look at me funny.

I fucking love Tex Murphy, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Why should I? It’s one of the few FMV titles of the CD-ROM era’s heyday that actually did shit right. It actually had story, characters, development, excitement, action, danger, humor, sci-fi, and fuck, you actually cared about what happened to the protagonist. Mostly because he was such a monumental fuck-up to begin with, you just desperately wanted him to succeed, despite all odds.

Really, it’s the Roger Wilco syndrome all over again. That might explain a few things, personally speaking. But let’s stay focused here.

Under a Killing Moon may have been the game that finally enabled early-adopter CD-ROM owners to finally brag about the potential of the media to their sceptical friends.  But once you got to CD 4 and the “final villain” was revealed to be “none other than Lowell Percival,” most players just went, “Who the fuck’s this guy?” - even though Tex was standing by throughout the whole fifteen-minute evil-genius monologue nodding his head like everything made just the right amount of sense.

Thing is, Under a Killing Moon was actually the third game in a series that just didn’t give a flying fuck what people thought about full motion video in adventure games, made by a company who just didn’t give a flying fuck what people thought about full motion video in golf games - so that just shows you the amount of cojones these people were packing.

Another thing is, though, Under a Killing Moon would not only prove to be one of the earliest successful FMV titles; it would also prove to be one of the only FMV titles who actually, as previously mentioned, got shit right. The only other I can think of off-hand are The Black Dahlia, The 7th Guest and … well, Moon’s sequel, the even better The Pandora Directive.

Let’s face it, Access Software - the company behind these games - had this medium nailed. I’m not saying it was Scorsese or anything, but as far as actual player involvement and character development goes, I can’t think of any video game character other than Gabriel Knight who has had the same level of believability — despite what can only mildly be described as fantastical circumstances — as ol’ Murphy.

I have to give special mention to The Pandora Directive at this point, because it came out at a time when lesser game companies had all but dug a hole for FMV games, blindfolded the poor girl and told her there was a magic sand-pit full of chocolate straight ahead.  But it really was the nigh perfect example of how to marry all manners of disparaging adventure game elements — inventory-based puzzles, FMV interactions, 7th Guest-ish logic puzzles, and most importantly wildly diverging story paths depending on how you gave the NPC’s attitude — and Access really deserved a fucking medal for just barely squeezing the game onto 6 CD-ROM’s without making the damn things leak liquid data at the seams.

Unfortunately, everyone else gave FMV a bad rap, and even Access had to bite the bullet. Most embarrassingly, they were bought by Microsoft; a fat-cat conglomerate whose interests were primarily concerned with golf and, presumably, snickering at disadvantaged people, while disadvantaged gumshoes fell squarely into the “do not give a fuck” category. Just before that happened, Tex made one final, desperate gasp of air in the wholly unsatisfying Overseer game, which was basically a retelling of the first game in the series (Mean Streets from 1989), and which despite impressive production values (and a kick-ass performance from Michael York as the game’s “I’m so British I’m evil, or is that the other way around?” villain) just felt like a particularly well-planned foreplay before an orgasm that never materialized.

It’s not for lack of trying from the creators of Tex.  Chris Jones, who really has nothing to do with the other immensely cool Chris Jones who invented Adventure Game Studio, co-wrote all of the games, played the titular character in all of the games and was financial director of Access Software, meaning he hired himself as an actor because he “figured I could afford myself.” (Actual quote.)  Aaron Conners is the person largely responsible for making Tex a believable character, being hired as a writing goon for Under a Killing Moon and quickly establishing himself as a guy who knew his shit and thusly was tasked with mapping out the varying paths and choices of The Pandora Directive and making sense of the wildly erratic Mean Streets story, which in and of itself must have been brain haemmorhage-inducing.

Anyway, they’ve been bummed about Microsoft starving their creation to death after they left the last game (the aforementioned Overseer, also known as “destroyer of DVD-ROM sales”) on a monumentally Australian-tinged cliff-hanger.

So, for an unknown period of time, they’ve been secretly plotting to bring back Tex for a final finale. (Well, what finale isn’t final? I ask you. And I’m not expecting an answer.)

Sure, there was the “radio series” they created, for lack of anything remotely entertaining to do. And there were numerous rumors about Tex living out his life as static text on a paper page, much like the Chandler novels that inspired his existence. But none of that would ever be as exciting to his loyal followers as the original plan that was announced, at the time when Overseer was still expected to make any kind of bread: the monolithic blockbuster trilogy that would end the Tex saga once and for all — comprised of three games: Overseer, Polarity and Trance — which promised wildly diverging story paths, gigantic plot twists and, possibly, candy.  Hell, the box was probably going to made of candy.  What do I know.  All I know is, if Ace Rimmer ever drops in with his alternate reality ship, I know which reality I want to go to first.

But since 2012 is shaping up to be the greatest year ever, it makes sense that 2012 is the year when Access Software — or, at least, the people from Access who mattered — decided to give Tex one last shot of morphine and bring him back from the goddamn dead.  Again.

As you can probably tell, this is like telling Jehova’s Witnesses that someone named J.C. is at the door.  The whole thing was supposed to be a relatively low-key but heartfelt goodbye to the last of the great gumshoes.  But with the recent success of Double Fine’s adventure picnic, Access has decided to try something similar and ask fans to pitch in to give Tex a final send-off.

I am so fucking there.

Also, the Escapist needs to shut the fuck up.  Video didn’t kill the adventure game star.  Your asshole attitude probably did.

Dodging a drunk missile

From the “in case you didn’t know” files: Some Danish guy built a Windows port of Rise of the Triad.

In case that makes you go, “Huh?” then, well, allow me to explain. (If, on the other hand, it makes you go, “Yawn,” you should probably stop reading right now. It’ll only get worse.)

Remember a little thing called Wolfenstein 3D? It was developed by a little software company consisting of approximately five coder nerds and a coffee guy (who was also the business manager or something). It was built upon the building blocks of a moderately obscure but pretty successful dungeon crawler game called Catacomb 3D whose major selling point, other than taking place in the most garishly colored dungeon ever, was that the player had free 360 degree movement.

This minor marvel of modern technology led tiny developer id Software to create Wolfenstein 3D, a game most older gamers remember for the variety of important lessons in history and physics it taught us, all of which we of course believed:

• Hitler keeps zombies with machine guns as pets in his dungeon.
• Hitler spends his days walking around his spacious office in a battle mech.
• Germany has rats the size of coyotes.
• Brushing up against a wall makes the same sound as knocking two plastic coconuts together.
• Every building in Germany has at least three secret push walls.

Okay, so Wolfenstein 3D was guilty fun we could all get behind, especially the totally laid back Germans who were totally cool with it, oh never mind, the game was banned upon release and remained so until 2011. But you can understand why they would be tetchy about a game that gleefully rips up old Nazi wounds and splatters them all over the screen in glorious 256 color VGA resolution. Right? Well, side-note, but wrong:

The game became a great hit, partly because it was great fun to play, but mainly because German gamers started pirating the game like there was no tomorrow. Let’s face it, if you can make a game that manages to piss off a country responsible for not one but two world wars (and we haven’t had three yet), pretty soon people are going to be pretty interested to see what the deal is. And when the deal turns out to actually be pretty sweet, you’ve got yourself a hit on your hands.

Naturally, a success deserves a sequel SHUT UP IT TOTALLY DOES. Apogee Software were eager to show off their new 3D engine, which came with a laundry list of features all worded to sound like they were punctuated by rubbing their nose at its competitor.

Of course, the actual creators of the original faded into obscurity and were never heard from again, no wait, they created Doom.

Still, that didn’t matter. Apogee had the name Wolfenstein to capitalize on, and their 3D engine was the best thing to happen to technology since Edison switched on his first bulb?

Well, even though I have a pretty soft spot for the engine itself (which would shortly thereafter evolve into the BUILD engine that powered Duke Nukem 3D and, er, William Shatner’s TekWar), calling it “evolved”, even by the standards of the day, would be stretching the truth. All ceiling heights had to be the same for an entire level - so if you wanted a cramped basement with a low ceiling somewhere in your level, congratulations, you’ve just painted yourself into the corner of having to design an entire level with a four foot ceiling. It didn’t help that every corner had to be at a 90 degree angle, a limitation that had the unfortunately comical effect of making even an impenetrable steel fortress look like it had been constructed out of hastily erected sheets of painted plywood.

And the Wolfenstein name? Well, for reasons I’m not sure Apogee even understand completely, the focus of the game shifted from “captured Allied soldier busting Nazi ass” to “infiltrating task force douchebags busting magic cult ass.” All of which we can thank this guy for:

Seriously. Take a good look. That’s actually the face of one of the greatest game designers who has ever lived. Tom Hall has one of the most fertile minds in the game industry; his greatest achievement being the creation of one of the most strong-lived characters in video game history, the Dopefish - a character so popular, rival game companies started putting it in their games.

I’m not ragging on Tom Hall at all. I just want to know what the hell he was smoking when he wrote the design document for what eventually became known to the world as Rise of the Triad - the Wolfenstein sequel that literally went off its rocker.

There’s that. And then there’s characters with names like I.P. Freeley and fat monks throwing glowing magic at you while muttering shit in Latin. Oh, and the final boss is a giant snake with Tom Hall’s head on it.

Right from the outset, you can smell the unspoken panic that went into the making of this game. Doom had already been out for a while and causing seizure fits of joy among gamers with no sign of slowing down and it was becoming pretty clear that it was only a matter of time before something would come along that was bigger and better than Doom. Rise of the Triad really, really wanted to be that game.

To be fair, Doom is a hard act to follow. But I think even staunch fans of Rise of the Triad will agree that when it comes to pandering for endearance, ROTT just takes the fucking cake. If you were to write out the feature list as character dialogue, it would sound like a really desperate used car salesman:

“You thought the rocket launcher in Doom was fun? Here, have two missile launchers! Have three! Hell, we’ll make the entire arsenal missile launchers! Each one of them more insane than the other. Woo-hoo, right?

“Oh, how about that blood in Doom, huh? That was cool, right? Here, have some more. Have tons more! Listen, if you shoot someone with one of those rocket launchers, it makes them explode! Tee-hee. Isn’t this fun?

“Remember running out of bullets in Doom? That totally killed the fun, right? We totally get that. Yeah. We won’t frustrate you like that. Here, have unlimited ammo for your gun. Okay, have two guns. Unlimited ammo for both. Knock yourself out. Wait, here. I’m in such a good mood. Take this machine gun. No, really, take this rapid fire machine gun. Here, it’s unlimited, too. Yeah, I said it. Go mow someone down. It’s on the house.”

But as horrible as that makes the game sound, it actually was sort of endearing, because it was so drastically over-the-top batshit insane. Sure, it played like a brick shithouse, the single player levels were unnecessarily complicated to the point of being sadistic and multiplayer deathmatches would usually deevolve into a clusterfuck of explosions and trampoline acts, thanks to another wonderfully unnecessary gameplay gimmick of having fucking trampoline pads all over the place.

But the sheer amount of batshit insanity that went into the production of the game somehow manages to outweigh every twitch-inducing miscarriage of justice the actual gameplay is. Magic monks and toasters on wheels throwing ninja stars are the least of the mind-boggling elements to this playing experience. Rise of the Triad is prime example, and a lesson to follow for future game producers, of what happens when you tell a development team to just go nuts and have fun with easter eggs.

If you start the game with the parameter “-dopefish” (this was when you had to start games from the DOS command line), the ominous title sequence would be replaced by a baffling acid trip of an animation in which the disembodied head of Apogee president Scott Miller would fly around to a haunting polka tune. Or just the fact that if your score went negative during multiplayer game (chances were good on that one), your character avatar would go cross-eyed and grow buckteeth.

So, really, it wasn’t so much a creepy, overly eager car salesman as it was the stray, mangy puppy that’s just somehow too adorable to kick in the face.

Now here, finally, is the kicker. A kicker I’ve already mentioned in the opening bit. Someone … from Denmark, of all places … sat down and wrote a Windows interpreter for the game.

Remember jDoom? This is jDoom for Rise of the Triad. All of a sudden, it’s got free mouse look and Quake-style controls, meaning that when you look up and down it doesn’t look like the game is really just a tattoo on a fat guy’s skin and he’s stretching it really, really tautly.

I’m not sure if this qualifies as unequivocably awesome, but it’s worth something. I’ll be damned if I know what, but here’s some tuna.