You’ve seen my take on the best zones the Megadrive/Genesis Sonic the Hedgehog games had to offer — now it’s time to look at what I believe are the worst five zones of the series! I’m sure I may tread on a few toes by doing this, but such is the nature of blogging, and as before, I’m always interested in hearing what my readers think on the topic. So without further ado, here’s my bottom five, the most loathed of all:

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#5: Flying Battery Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

I’m going to get flak for this, but hear me out. What do you get if you combine Wing Fortress Zone with Metropolis Zone, and add a few smatterings of Scrap Brain Zone? That sounds like the recipe for one of the best zones in Sonic history, and while Flying Battery Zone has a great theme and possibly one of my favourite musical scores of the entire series (the Sonic series has great music, but this one truly stands head and shoulders above the rest), it all falls flat on its face for one big reason: It’s far, far too cruel.

Between switches that spew fire, spike-lined tunnels with screw-like elevators which can easily crush an unfortunate hedgehog, rotating tunnels which must be exited with precision lest you fall off the bottom of the screen and die, spikes, electricity, and many, many things which can crush and kill you instantly, Flying Battery Zone is an excercise in controller-snapping frustration. There’s simply no relenting moment in the constant stream of stressful assaults — it even employs tricks as dirty as containment pods that spew out enemies, and run-or-die hedgehog-crushing action as the level collapses at the end. This is truly an experiment in sadism, and if that’s the case, it was a roaring success.

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#4: Aquatic Ruin Zone (Sonic 2)

This was actually quite a difficult choice to make — while I adore the visual style and theme of the Aquatic Ruin Zone and it has a fantastic soundtrack and even a great boss battle at the end, it’s all let down by one fatal flaw: It’s fucking annoying to play. Between the arrow-chucking pillars, hidden enemies that burst out of walls, collapsing floors, falling pillars, precision jumps, and frequent underwater segments complete with drowning, this zone is just a massive pain in the ass.

It’s mostly a shame due to wasted potential; this could easily have been the successor and redeemer of the Labyrinth Zone, but instead Sega went down the route of making a “challenging” (which usually translates to “irritating”) experience, and the choice of being chased by arrows or forced underwater is hardly a pleasant one to make. It’s certainly not the worst zone of the series and I will concede that the boss fight at the end with the totem poles is actually a hell of a lot of fun (if too easy), but I’m afraid that’s not enough to redeem the rest of this miserable experience.

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#3: Hydrocity Zone (Sonic 3)

I think it’s an unwritten law of video games that every platformer must feature at least one water-based level, and with but a few exceptions, these levels tend to be universally-hated. Hydrocity Zone is no exception to that rule, and as well as the typical annoyances of water-based levels — drowning being the prime offender here — a number of other obnoxious features are added to make the experience all the more annoying. Piranha Badniks that latch on and prevent Sonic from jumping, spikes that appear out of nowhere, fans and water currents that force the poor hedgehog around, all while accompanied by a jazzy and meh soundtrack that sounds like upbeat elevator music.

The bosses are hit-and-miss in this zone — the act 1 miniboss is frankly nothing short of annoying, though the act 2 boss is actually quite unique and interesting, offering multiple ways to provide his demise. Nontheless, it can’t change the fact that Hydrocity Zone is a pain to play, and one of those zones that I dread having to trawl through at all.

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#2: Marble Garden Zone (Sonic 3)

The best way to describe this sprawling tedium of a zone is “boring”. The zone is frankly obscene in its size — likely one of the largest in the series — though much of it consists of running up and down slopes, being propelled along by gyroscopes at top speed, and impaling your skull on a dozen razor-sharp steel spikes that you swear weren’t there a second ago. Or at least you would, if you weren’t so busy bleeding like a burst soda can.

Marble Garden Zone isn’t even so much hard as it is a mind-numbing slog, spattered with the occasional flecks of bullshit, and including both immensely annoying boss battles and one of those all-so-fun sections where you’re fleeing through a collapsing level, trying to avoid being crushed into paste at every turn while racing against the clock and dodging falling debris. There are simply no redeeming qualities about this train-wreck of a zone — even the music is decidedly meh — though it can only be beaten in terms of terribleness by…

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#1: Labyrinth Zone (Sonic 1)

Nothing says “I wish I was dead” like the Labyrinth Zone. Waterfalls, precision jumping, drowning, crushing, spikes, hidden switches, hidden enemies, obnoxious boss battles, and all manner of other nasties combine to make this the single most abhorrent zone of the series. What were they thinking? Worse, still, is that the final Scrap Brain Zone act is an albino clone of Labyrinth Zone, bringing us back once more to the nightmare.

This is not only one of the hardest zones in the first Sonic game — if not the hardest — but it’s also the one that’s most likely to have you throwing your controller at the screen in frustration, after dying in a thoroughly humiliating and unfair fashion for the twentieth time. Whatever masterful skill went into crafting most of the Sonic zones has seemingly been lost with this disgrace of a zone, not helped much by its thoroughly mediocre soundtrack and weak graphic design. Sega, you have shamed yourselves.

Ahh, Sonic the Hedgehog, a game series close to the hearts of gamers worldwide despite being sullied by literally years of terrible products, the misty-eyed nostalgia of the glory days long-since past still impossible to forget. I for one was an almost obsessive fan of Sonic as a kid — I had the toys, the comics, all the games, the cartoons, the works. With the advent of Sonic 4 – and after reading this post over at VG Nostalgia — I got to thinking about the classic days of the Genesis, and some of the great times I had.

With that said, here’s my take on the top 5 zones from the classic Sonic series on the Megadrive/Genesis. I’m curious to hear other peoples’ thoughts on the matter, so you’re more than welcome to list your own favourites in the comments! (Of course, you’re not just limited to the 16-bit era; that’s just my personal bias.) Keep your eyes peeled, because soon I’ll be making another post about the worst five zones in the Sonic series. But until then, here’s the cream of the crop:

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#5: Green Hill Zone (Sonic 1)

While perhaps not the most technically accomplished zone in the Sonic series, this list would be a shambles without at least a mention of the iconic Green Hill Zone, the charming and vibrant first level of the Sonic series which has been recreated time and time again in various incarnations throughout the games (Emerald Hill, Angel Island, Mushroom Hill, and so on). It’s frankly impossible for any retrogamer worth his salt to not be enthralled by the gorgeous scenery and simple-yet-enjoyable gameplay as our blue friend makes his way across rolling hills, beneath waterfalls, and over yawning chasms, all to the energetic and upbeat theme music.

The boss at the end of act 3 is similarly iconic, Robotnik making his first attempt to slay the azure devil by attaching a huge, swinging wrecking ball to the base of his flying Egg-o-Matic, aiming to pummel our hero into cerulean paste. Green Hill Zone also introduces many familiar tropes of the Sonic series, such as collapsing platforms, speedy sections with looping trails, and even möbius strips in the iconic checkerboard pattern. If ever there was a perfect introduction to the world of Sonic the Hedgehog, it’d be the Green Hill Zone.

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#4: Icecap Zone (Sonic 3)

While perhaps not my favourite soundtrack in the Sonic series, Icecap Zone more than makes up for this loss with a beautiful and excellently-designed series of levels, starting with Sonic snowboarding down the side of a snow-covered mountain before having to face off against legions of dastardly foes, sliding platforms, destructible scenery, and even freeze rays! Perhaps one of the more experimental zones in the series, Icecap Zone is a little hit-and-miss in parts but largely delivers thanks to its unique mechanics and interesting — if often cruel — flow.

Icecap Zone is the level you love to hate, and it’ll have the player pulling out his (or her) hair in frustration after one too many times crushed, frozen, impaled, or one of many other fates that await Sonic. However, despite often being frustrating and outright unfair, I think this zone perhaps defines Sonic 3 for me personally, summing up its improved and changed gameplay (which Sonic & Knuckles perfected beautifully) while providing a worthy challenge to even hardened Sonic veterans.

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#3: Sandopolis Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

The spiritual successor to the oft-loathed Oil Ocean Zone, Sandopolis replaces the lakes of oil and industrial constructions with a desert of quicksand and a predictably Egyptian theme, providing both some of my favourite Badniks in the series (the scorpion robot and the sand-dwelling cousin of Caterkiller) and some fitting background music, as well as formidable agility puzzles, block-pushing, and some of the most unique and interesting level design you’ll see in S&K.

Sandopolis really comes into its own in act 2, however, when Sonic makes his way through an ancient temple and must contend with not only sand-flows and timed doors, but also keep pulling switches to keep the place illuminated — not only does this help you to find your way and not run face-first into a wall full of spikes, but it also drives away the resident population of ghosts, who would like nothing more than to destroy this unwelcome intruder. Combine that with some great boss fights, and you’ve got a clear winner on your hands.

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#2: Lava Reef Zone (Sonic & Knuckles)

In my opinion the most visually stunning of the Genesis Sonic series, Lava Reef Zone is not only an experience that thoroughly blew me away when the game was new, but a masterpiece of level design coupled with a superb and catchy soundtrack. Spanning three acts rather than the usual two (though the latter is little more than a glorified boss battle), I simply can’t say enough good things about the experience from start to finish, one that is both punishing and challenging in many ways, but also deeply rewarding as you pursue your mustachioed nemesis through the molten innards of Mobius.

Admittedly, much of the appeal is purely in the visual element — the artwork is probably the best seen in any Genesis Sonic game (purely my opinion, of course) and the experience of adventuring through such a vibrant, dynamic locale is truly a thing to behold, especially back in the 16-bit era where graphics such as this were some of the best you’d ever see. However, the classic Sonic gameplay shines through in the form of deadly agility puzzles, speedy action sequences, and avoidable yet cruel traps first and foremost involving balls of fire and huge lakes of molten lava.

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#1: Chemical Plant Zone (Sonic 2)

If there was anything that could be defined as the perfect Sonic zone, the quintessential example of what made the Sonic series such an avalanche of success in the 90s, I think Chemical Plant Zone sums it up in spades. Almost every Sonic trope is present here, from the water hazards — represented by the lingering doom of the Mega Mack pools — to the classic moving staircases that first made their debut in Sonic 1′s Starlight Zone, from fast-paced action over helix-shaped walkways and around the classic loops, to floating platforms and hazardous terrain.

It’s a clear remake of Scrap Brain Zone, but it’s done in such a fantastic way — and with arguably the best soundtrack in Sonic history — that all is forgiven. My only complaint would be the Badnik foes on this level, which were both surprisingly sparse and not terribly memorable, but that just speaks all the more loudly about the quality of construction that went into the level design itself. I challenge you to find a Sonic zone with more fantastic design, fast-paced gameplay, memorable music, and a great mechanic like the pressure tubes. I think you’d be hard-pressed to top this one, and that’s why Chemical Plant Zone is my number one all-time favourite of the series.

So I’ve been thinking about retrogaming, a topic that I’m sure is close to the hearts of many gamers of my generation.

In short — and in this context — retrogaming is simply the act of playing older games, and while it’s an unclear definition when a game makes the transition from “new” to “old” — and then to the elusive and revered “retro” — there’s no doubt that some of the most well-known and well-loved retrogaming involves arcade, console, and computer games from the 8-bit and 16-bit eras; the age of simple, chunky, colourful graphics and the charmingly tinny, memorable chiptunes. It’s an era of game development where the gaming community as a whole was really starting to find its footing and entrench itself, finding its place in society, and many of the games of the age served almost as prototypes to shape and define future creations. In short, the 8-bit (and, to a lesser extent, 16-bit) era defined gaming as a whole, and I’m sure few can reasonably argue otherwise.

The topic that frequently vexes me, however, and I’ve yet to find a reasonable answer to: Is the charm and allure of the “retro” simply because gamers such as myself have grown up through this iconic era and fondly remember with rose-tinted glasses, or is there truly a simplistic, innocent appeal to the games of this era — the forefathers, as it were, of the modern gaming “scene”? I’ve heard conflicting opinions, both from those who adore the era and practically worship the low-resolution offerings while others, such as a friend who I could only describe as a “modern gaming purist”, will snidely eschew any such notion, claiming instead that the only appeal is rooted in personal bias and hazy childhood memories.

So I’m going to open this topic to the floor, as sparse as it may be right now. Is there truly an intangible magic that will be remembered for generations to come, or are we simply blinded by fond memories of a time long-gone, when we were too naive to know any better?

When I was a great deal younger and significantly less cynical, I used to while away many an hour at my friend Carl’s house, playing various brightly-coloured, low-resolution offerings on his monolith of a computer — an Amstrad CPC464, a behemoth of hardware compared to my own, with a massive 64Kb RAM and a beast of a 4MHz processor. While there were a number of games available on both cassette and the ill-fated, atrociously-designed 3″ floppy disks, one of the firm favourites at the time was Gauntlet II, a game that can only be described as a mash-up between dungeon crawler, top-view shoot-’em-up, and maze. Of the four characters available — Warrior, Valkyrie, Wizard, and Elf — I always used to favour the brutish warrior (to which I tended to apply the esoteric green colour scheme), while Carl would usually opt for the blue wizard.

Thus began our adventures through the maze-like dungeons of Gauntlet, a game which — originally designed for the arcade, though successfully ported to many home computers and consoles — literally lasted forever, the dungeons cycling around and rotating or flipping themselves to provide the illusion of many more. As well as the legions of bloodthirsty monsters and the sadistic whims of your fellow adventurer, the sands of time were constantly ticking away in the form of an ever-depleting health bar. This was not a game that one could “beat”, but rather a challenge to reach the furthest point, the deepest dungeon. Rumours circulated about a “Super Sorcerer” in the form of a fire-breathing red dragon on level 100, but neither of us ever managed to get that far.

In the years following, I’ve played many of the ports, re-makes, and sequels to the venerable Gauntlet, yet none have truly managed to capture the charm and personality of the original and its masterful sequel. Gauntlet IV for the Sega Megadrive (Genesis, to those in Americaland) was one of the many, and while it may have fascinated me as a kid with its proto-equipment system and distinct objectives in the form of the Quest Mode, sadly this is another attempt which tried to recreate the magic and simply missed the mark.

While there are a few game modes available, including Arcade Mode, a recreation of the original “infinite dungeons” style — now playable with up to four, rather than the original limitation of an adventuring duo — the centerpiece here is the “storyline” driven Quest Mode, where the player must conquer the four dragons hidden deep in four themed towers — fire, earth, air, and water, tediously enough — before tackling the castle in order to retrieve some ancient treasure.

Gameplay is exactly what one would expect of a Gauntlet game — legions of seemingly endless foes, ranging from the thuggish Grunts to the devious Lobbers, and the ever-feared yet unimaginatively-named Deaths. Aside from gaining experience to increase one’s stats and using treasure to purchase improved equipment, there’s also the standard plethora of items lining the floors — potion-shaped “bombs” and keys, primarily, though amulets that provide limited invisibility and a few other items also make an appearance. It’s a fairly typical affair, involving slashing or shooting your way through the throng, finding hidden “trap tiles” that unlock various parts of the maze, struggling with the headache that the teleporters are bound to induce, and generally trying to find your way to the end of the dungeon in order to dispatch the hapless dragon stationed therein.

Unfortunately, Gauntlet’s original strength — its charming, unassuming gameplay — now becomes its greatest weakness. No longer faced with a “play until you die” scenario, the player is now given solid goals and objectives, but given the nature of the dungeons, which tend to require the majority of the enemies to be cleared before all the puzzle elements can be solved, it now becomes tedium, slogging through yet more wizards, yet more ghosts, yet more demons as you try to reach the next level, only to discover that you took the wrong exit (or missed a hidden switch) and have to backtrack yet again. The ambition of Gauntlet IV is its own Achilles’ heel, as the formula that worked so well for an arcade-style slasher/shooter translates poorly to a more RPG-like format.

I wish I could say I loved this game, and perhaps at first I did — its catchy, well-themed music and familiar, retro gameplay certainly struck a chord with me to begin with, but eventually it descends into a tiresome slog of distinct sameness. Perhaps it may be more enjoyable to play in the Arcade Mode with a friend or two, but given that the crux of Gauntlet IV revolves around its Quest Mode, I’m afraid I can’t recommend this version — not when there are so many other, better Gauntlet ports available on other systems.

Ahh, Sonic the Hedgehog, everyone’s favourite aqua-hued mammal, a hero to small, defenseless animals everywhere and the eternal bane of the devious Doctor Robotnik (known to the Japanese, and later in English-speaking regions, as Doctor Eggman). Sonic, the hero of the day, fighting against tyranny and practical application of metallic alloys since 1991.

Or is he?

Is this the face of a killer, or a terrified scientist fighting for his life against a relentless menace?

First, allow me to discount the, shall we say, “extended universe” of Sonic — the later games to a lesser extent, but for the most part, the cartoon series, comic books, and other such efforts which portray our portly Doctor as a typical bumbling villain, unable to perform the simplest of schemes without making huge errors or exercising monumentally poor judgement; I dispute the canonicity of these offerings due to the simple belief that a man who single-handedly created sprawling cities of steel, hundreds of varied and deadly robot servants, space stations, weapons of mass destruction, and more — a man of such supreme will and genius simply could not conceivably act in such a dim-witted and buffoonish manner. With that in mind, I relegate this article to the earlier occupants of the series, the games that eschewed deep story in favour of simple, colourful gameplay.

Sonic, then — a hero, a freedom fighter standing up to oppression in the name of small woodland creatures everywhere? No! Observe, if you will, the actions of this bespined rodent — wreaking a trail of havoc in his wake, destroying all that stands before him, causing untold amounts of monetary damage in his blind, berserk spree through the world in his single-minded hunt for blood. The games portray him in a positive light, naturally; propaganda, some could say, as his actions speak for themselves. Is Sonic truly “freeing” these small, hapless creatures from their metallic prisons as he destroys Robotnik’s legions of robotia, or are these helpless minions the willing pilots of the machines, unable to fend for themselves after their vehicles have been ruptured, desperately scrambling for cover to avoid the blue razor-blade wrath of their tormentor?

At the end of each level, in classic Sonic the Hedgehog fashion, a large pod-like tank is ruptured by the sapphire menace. What at first appears to be an act of altruism could easily be construed as an attempted massacre — these pods, prisons for the conquered, or birthing chambers nurturing the young until they are able to take their first steps into the world? Even Robotnik himself rarely makes any direct effort to intercept Sonic, instead opting to flee and hide at any opportunity, only turning to fight when cornered by this cyan devil who simply refuses to let the grudge drop, refuses to let the good Doctor away from the ever-present terror. Can we, therefore, blame the Doctor for defending himself with the aid of machines, when his corpulent frame is clearly no match alone for his freakishly mutated opponent?

So I say to you, dear readers, who is truly the victim here? Who has been relentlessly hounded by an unstoppable foe bent on nothing short of utter annihilation, who has been forced to create such devious traps and weapons simply as a matter of self-defense, and who, truly, is the villain of the piece? I for one will say this: Beneath those comically-large eyes and behind those abnormally-hued spines lies the cold, calculating mind of a killer. A hero, indeed, or the most violent sociopath the world of Mobius has ever seen?