Game: The Punisher, Capcom, 1993, ArcadeBeer: Magnum 40, 40 fl. oz., 6% abv
# of beers consumed during play: 1
Level Reached: 3rd level boss
Level of Intoxication: Three Sheets to the Wind
Game
In their heyday, Capcom was the undisputed king of beat-em-ups, those storied games in which you and sometimes a friend would take on what seemed like the whole damn city, with nothing but your fists, some ham-hocks rotting under piles of old tires, and some weapons lying about to help you. It started with the venerable Final Fight, and as anyone who has played that game can attest, it felt right from the word go. As the genre matured, the fighters it produced became more polished and in-depth. The Punisher is, in my opinion, one of those high points that juts out of the cloud layer, beckoning to anyone who has managed to summit one of its lesser cousins. In this, Capcom has once again proven they know what it takes to keep those tokens flowing.
Gameplay
I've played Final Fight, Captain Commando, Streets of Rage, and dozens of other beat-em-ups, and none of them have given me the giddy feeling of being a complete bad-ass that The Punisher has. From the jump, you play as either The Punisher or Nick Fury, and you basically tear through legions of thugs and bosses like they were tissue paper in a rainstorm. There is an incredible variety of destructible items in the environment, and those usually yield either bonuses or further weapons. The bonuses are your standard fare; bags of money, jeweled rings, and bundles of cash which merely give you points. Then you have health items which give you an equivalent boost. Those are also fairly standard, including pizza, turkey, and the old Capcom standby, the huge ham-hock on the bone. The weapons however are where this game truly shines though. Goodness gracious, I was in thrill-kill heaven. With an assortment of weapons ranging from hunting knives, to baseball bats, lengths of pipe, chairs, swords, handguns, machine guns, uzis, axes, rocks, throwing stars, and much, much more, there is never a shortage of ways to dispatch the legions of hapless meat puppets who litter each level. Seriously, if there's an employment application to serve as the minions in this game, there should be a clause stating, "I, the undersigned, do hereby release the Kingpin of all liability if I am suddenly and unwittingly speared through the face by a medieval lance." And no, I didn't pull that weapon out of my ass...it's in the Goddamn game. Why aren't you playing this yet?
In addition to an obscene amount of weapons at your disposal, once or twice in each level, the game just gives you a handgun with unlimited ammo and allows you to go trigger happy on any sap foolish enough to appear onscreen. Once you've pumped what can only be described as a metric ton of hot lead into your adversaries, the game once again pits your fists and feet (and any nearby M16's on the ground) against your foes, giving you free reign to make all those guys in MMA look like teat-suckling panty-waists. You can dash and do a sliding kick, you can grab them and knee them or jump and throw them into their friends. You can grab them, jump and perform a mid-air suplex on them, or you can be boring and just walk up and do a combo of punches on them. If you're in a pinch, which you will be in the later levels, you can toss a grenade and watch your foes all become encased in what appears to be a mummy wrap of flames, which was cool in Final Fight and Street Fighter II, and continues to kick all ass to this very day.
Of course, if you need more evidence that this game will appeal to that violent little sociopath nestled deep within your brain, allow me to illustrate:
You can stand atop a car (which you can later destroy) and just take potshots at anything that moves. More specifically, you can stand atop a car and take potshots at guys named Trench. Fathers of teenage girls will absolutely adore this game.
Graphics/Sound
The '90s was a turning point for videogames, both in the arcades and at home. Gone were the washed out, simple graphics of yesteryear, and in their place were vibrant colors, big sprites, and full, digitized sound. Final Fight in its day was unabashedly groundbreaking, and Capcom consistently outdid themselves on nearly every brawler they made thereafter. The Punisher is no exception. The large, highly detailed sprites, the varied and colorful backgrounds, and the great sound effects and whatnot were an audio/visual treat. With the passage of time, the graphics are beginning to show their age, but--in my opinion--still remain a marked pinnacle of the early/mid '90s era of arcade games. Both main characters are not only highly detailed and exude this constant air of bad-assedness, but furthermore appear truthful to the comics, giving them an air of legitimacy. The sounds are pretty great, noises associated with fist hitting thug are nicely rendered, and things smashing and blowing up (usually thanks to you) are also well presented. What gives this game the auditory edge in my mind though is the voice samples. They are so cheesed and laughable, they ascend to greatness. The first time you hear Nick Fury or The Punisher belt out their battle cry, you'll feel an inescapable pang of embarrassment. But after the hundredth or so baddie screams out an absolutely hilarious "ow!!" you'll begin to understand the nature of this virtual dimension and will come to embrace The Punisher's trademark wail. Axl Rose, eat your heart out.
Story
If I really have to introduce you to The Punisher's story, you've either been living under the sea for the last few decades, or you weren't paying attention during the game's attract sequence. At any rate, Frank Castle leads a fine and dandy life with his awesome family until the mob sweeps in and wipes out everyone he ever loved. This is enough for Mr. Psychopath to don a jersey with a giant skull on it and kill anything that loves pasta and pistols, and so a plot is born. His primary nemesis is the infamous Kingpin, who, in addition to being the boss of the crime syndicate that killed Castle's family, also appears to be the approximate size of a freaking elephant. Castle, who now goes under the moniker of The Punisher, works his way up a chain of cronies which include giant robots, ninja chicks who crawl around like waterbugs, and guys with arms that turn into grenade launchers until he finally meets up with Kingpin, who fights by blowing cigar smoke in The Punisher's face. I guess when you run a whole crime family, you're allowed to be a tool...
Beer
Magnum 40, made by the illustrious Miller Brewing Company in order to satiate that pesky socio-economic underclass, is what is commonly known as a "fawtie." It occupies shelf space with other such brands as Steel Reserve 211, King Cobra, and Billy Dee William's personal favorite, Colt .45. I mean, come on...if Lando Calrissian likes it, how bad can it be?
Well, I don't know about Colt .45, but Magnum 40 is like drinking the runoff from a zoo after it has been bottled and allowed to ferment for a while. It had a very certain tang to it, which I found to be increasingly unpleasant as I continued with the bottle. By the time I had reached the bottom, each drink was accompanied by a very pronounced feeling of almost-nausea, as if my body was trying to tell me that what I was drinking was acutely toxic, and further violations would result in sudden and violent rebuke.
Interestingly enough however, thanks to the 6% alcohol by volume, my brain was happily telling me to pick up the bottle time and again and upend it over my face, delivering more and more of the dishwater-like brew to my innards where it became one with my increasingly chagrined being. Once the beer was finally finished, I felt a warm unease in the pit of my stomach which went nicely with the rubberiness in my legs and the spinning top in my head. My mouth has henceforth retained a very alcoholic aftertaste, and I'm sure that's a pretty good indicator of what I'm going to feel like in the morning. The carbonation in the drink was just low enough to facilitate chugging, which I chanced in the early stages, but quickly stopped once that nauseous feeling began to accompany each slug. I soon began to realize what $2.50 worth of alcohol does for you, and just as quickly realized that I didn't want to experience $2.50 worth of alcohol ever again. Of course, given the nature of this site, and the fact that I'm dirt poor most of the time, that last statement doesn't actually preclude me from ever drinking cheap malt liquor ever again, I just know now that I don't want to.
The Matchup
I managed to pick a game/beer combo that really hit the opposite ends of the scale. On the one hand, The Punisher was a damn awesome game. Easy to get into, easy to play, and most importantly, fun as hell. The challenge ramped up nicely and by the time I quit, I was flying high. The Magnum however was the beer equivalent of giving an angry dog a bath. Virtually everything about the beer was difficult and ended up with me suffering. The first few sips were galvanizing, and the last few were nauseating. The one thing it did have in common with the game was the fact that the challenge ramped up nicely and by the time I quit, I was flying high.
Cheers/Game on.