Maru is a gravity-defying ninja (despite what the Americanized box-art will have you believe) fighting to save his girlfriend from an evil samurai. In other words, Maru's Mission for the Game Boy is just oozing with originality, and doesn't bear even a modicum of resemblance to the convention-defying plots found in Legend of Kage or Super Mario Bros.
The plot may be nothing to write home
about, but keep in mind this was released in a time when video game
plots were just context for killing bad guys, and weren't trying to
be the next Titanic. Story aside, the first thing that really stood
out was the jumping mechanics. Maru jumps as if he's on the moon, and
will completely pass the screen's ceiling if you hold the button down
long enough. This takes some getting used to, as the
jump is also very floaty.
Maru's default attack is shurikens, which can be thrown in four directions. These will make it about halfway across the screen before disappearing. Most enemies take only a few hits to kill, and have easily avoidable, fairly weak attacks. In most cases, colliding with an enemy will also defeat it, which was misleading when I tried to jump on them Mario-style my first time playing. There is no sound effect for damage received, so I didn't immediately notice my health, represented by a counter in the bottom right-hand corner, was decreasing. Fallen enemies will release souls, and each soul sprite collected restores five hit points. Letting souls drop to zero or falling down a pit into the depths of hell three times spells game over.
There are a variety of powerups to be
found in Maru's Mission, including homing fists, a wave of
energy (which for some reason ALWAYS fires to the right), bombs, and
a wagon which grants invincibility. These abilities do not carry over
to boss and mid-boss fights, and are not really needed in these cases
anyway. Every mid-stage boss will supply you with the weapon needed
to defeat the end-stage boss, and neither of these are very
difficult. Their patterns, while each unique, are pretty predictable,
and none of their attacks seem to exceed twelve damage, which is
miniscule compared to the hundreds of souls the player is likely to have
accumulated over the course of just a few levels. In fact, most bosses can be dealt with by standing relatively still and spamming shurikens.
There are points in the game that just
feel unpolished. Enemy sprites will sometimes move through foreground
objects, and it's difficult to tell if it's a glitch or intentional.
In one of the later levels, there's an enemy that will grab Maru and
shake him around before letting go. Some of these are in narrow
spaces which make it nearly impossible to escape from if caught, and
there's nothing the player can do but die, or get lucky and manage to
escape after losing an absurd amount of hit points.
It has it's rough points, but it's an
alright platformer overall, and can be completed in about forty-five
minutes. After defeating the end boss, he says “If you are looking
for a fair fight, send me the secret to your success. My address is:
Muramasa
c/o Jaleco USA
310 Era Dr.
Northbrook. IL.
60062
who knows, I may send something back.”
I couldn't find any information on
this, so if anyone knows something, let me know in the comments.
2 comments:
As intriguing as it may seem, the Muramasa address thing is a bust. As a kid, I sent my letter in wonder and amazement, wondering what I could possibly receive from a video game villain. All I received is one of those generic letters of "Thanks for your interest in our product" type deals.
To above commenter, that is deeply saddening. I bought this game for ~60 dollars around 1992. I did not send the letter then as I live in Europe, now I'm glad I didn't.
This game is weird and short and way too simple but I liked it. Its weirdness makes it charming for me, of course that could be nostalgia speaking.
Played it again and this time took note of all the rough edges. E.g. Medusa, a boss character, can't turn around! She can only face left. I think this game was raced out the door for some reason. Oh, Jaleco.
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