Black screen, the city begins to glow out of the chthonic night, as if you’ve just awoken after a long day’s sleep. The bridges and roads are jammed, a procession of brakes glowing red across the screen like an endless warning. The lights in the city are all but dark. A low synthesizer moans, joined by a rising, mournful string of notes.
This is 1991. This is a promise. This is what you saw on the box, in orange flame and blue denim, in wild flying kicks and gun-toting criminals, underscored in a violent font: STREETS OF RAGE.
Returning to this game for the first time in probably two decades is a surprisingly powerful experience. In today’s world, our games are, more often than not, rich, detailed, expansive worlds with bold and essential plots. Fleet fiber and grinding GPUs deliver us a level of real-life verisimilitude that challenges our wonder and eases our imagination.
Streets of Rage was the first game to draw me in with a story. It was the first one to grip me. My room didn’t sport a Sega Genesis until almost 1995, but I’d managed to sneak off to play games at my friends’ or uncle’s homes, diving into the old classics like Super Mario Bros. 2 and Doom, since I was three. But these were just games to me. They evoked nothing in my undeveloped brain.
Streets of Rage would change all that. For others, it’s Mario, or Metroid, or Mega Man that allows them to draw from the deep well of emotional memory. I hear my peers talk about these old characters in excited voices, forwarding YouTube clips of new covers of the old soundtracks. But me? For me, it’s the memory of a driving beat, a sliding city and scrolling text, of three sinewy characters throwing jabs at howling baddies.
“This city was once a happy, peaceful place…” Yes! Yes! For the first time I believed it. Tell me more—why was it only “once” happy? What changed? Reveal! “The city has become a center of violence and crime where no one is safe.” Of course, of course. For a kid growing up watching the LA riots and the still grungy streets of Manhattan, this made sense. “They are willing to risk anything… even their lives… on the… streets of rage.” SIGN.ME.UP. What could be more enticing to a kid just aching for adventure in a world of concrete, steel, and glass? What’s more dramatic than a few, overused ellipses? What’s more thrilling to invincible youth than the vow to risk one’s very life?
To me, this was clearly New York. This was my city. Something sinister was working behind the scenes. This was simple—good and evil—a child’s fight in a strange, complicated world. There was a parade of villainy to uncover and defeat. I would defend my home.
All these years later, I feel that same rush of energy and delight. It all comes back, the sights and sounds as familiar as yesterday. The controller is different—the arcane Xbox device, instead of the sleek, simple Genesis—but I barely notice. “1 Player.” I press A. A twang takes me to the character selection screen as a new theme takes over—something like a steel drum in an endless loop. I’d never had a favorite character—I liked to switch between then as my mood suited me. Right now, I’m grabbing the front-and-center brawler, Axel, who reminds me of so many 90s action heroes in his blue jeans and white tank.
“Round 1 Start”. Axel drops in from above and—trying out the buttons—I immediately make the same mistake I did when I was a kid. I hit the “special” button. The camera pans fast to the left, a sporty police car races up, and an officer with a bazooka—a bazooka—leans out the window to let loose. The blazing round streaks across the sky out of screen and lands back with Axel. Fire rages in a neat circle and kills everyone there with a screech. Or, it would have, if I’d let any enemies show up. You only get one of these in a stage per life (unless you get lucky and grab a power-up), and I just used my only one. Ah well. These streets are cruel.
The Pine Pot eatery is right behind Axel, one of many neon-fronted shops that he’ll walk past. My curiosity is as strong as it once was, and I wish they’d do a GTA-style remake of Streets of Rage, letting me wander into each of these establishments to see what life is like behind the windows.
The enemies come on, bit by bit. My impressions have changed. At one time, the basic baddie was just that—but now I can’t help but wonder, in my ironic, millennial way, where Mr. X hires all these goons from, and how much he must pay them to engender such loyalty. When the yellow-jacketed, purpled haired next-level bad guy wanders on screen to face my fists’ wrath, I used to think it was some turtle-backed mutant—now I can see it’s just a guy in unfashionable socks and a strange, high-waisted coat. I never used to question why there were lithe dominatrix types wandering around these mean streets in bright red, skintight outfits and officer caps while carrying a whip. Now… now I’m a bit perplexed.
The first boss was, at one time, a terrifying encounter. Now, he’s a bit of a laugh. I wonder who brings a boomerang to a street fight? I wonder why he’s wearing cowboy boots, a red and white striped shirt, and a fluffy women’s jacket? I wonder how cold Axel is that all the bad guys are bundled up, and my guy’s just wandering around in a tank top.
But there it is: “Round 1 Clear.” The points are counted off in a satisfying burst. I’ve won, in so many ways. As a kid, I’d driven back darkness. Today, I’ve held back the specter of age itself.
Then, as Round 2 begins, a friend sits down next to me. He asks, “Mind if I join?” And that—that is a whole other way to remember this game, that time in my life. That’s an adventure, and a post, for another time.
Edwin’s been gaming as long as he can remember. He’s always been a PC, Sega, and Nintendo guy, but you’ll still find him on a PS or Xbox–but, shh, don’t tell his Genesis!
