NOSTALGIA & HISTORY

It’s not every day a game turns your television into a comic book. In 1995, Comix Zone did exactly that—and did it with a confidence few games could match. Developed by Sega Technical Institute and released on the Sega Genesis during the console's final flourish, this beat-’em-up broke free from the genre’s growing sameness. It didn’t just deliver fights and combos—it did so inside an actual comic book. And no, that’s not a metaphor. From the panel-to-panel movement, to the sound-effect text that popped up with every punch, Comix Zone fully embraced its theme.

At the time, it was a visual stunner, but even beyond the graphics, there was something distinctly different about this game. It had style, grit, and a kind of meta-cleverness that most titles didn’t dare to attempt. You played as Sketch Turner, a comic book artist quite literally pulled into his own work. You didn’t just move through levels—you tore through pages. Enemies didn't spawn; they were drawn in by the villain, Mortus. Cutscenes weren’t between levels—they were printed in frames. That raw idea, executed with such polish and creativity, made Comix Zone an experience that was hard to forget.

In the early 1990s, the gaming world was flooded with mascots trying to capture the magic of Sonic and Mario. But nestled quietly among them was a green amphibian with a crown, a cape, and a surprisingly rich sense of humor—Superfrog. Released in 1993 by the British developers at Team17, this game wasn’t just another mascot platformer. It was, in many ways, a love letter to the Amiga scene—a platform known more for its depth than its flash.

What made Superfrog stand out wasn’t just its responsive controls or colorful visuals—it was how it blended charm, challenge, and playfulness without trying too hard to be “cool.” It didn’t rely on attitude or edgy humor like some of its contemporaries. Instead, it leaned into whimsy. The story was simple: a prince turned into a frog by an evil witch must navigate six worlds to rescue his princess. Classic setup. But the delivery? Fast-paced levels, hidden areas, power-ups galore, and a soundtrack that wormed its way into your brain.

Long before ninjas were mainstream icons in gaming, The Last Ninja series carved out its own legend on the Commodore 64. With its striking isometric visuals, atmospheric music, and cinematic level design, it wasn’t just a game—it was a phenomenon. It blurred the lines between genres, blending action, exploration, puzzle-solving, and a touch of mysticism, all wrapped in a slick ninja aesthetic. To those who lived through the late '80s era of 8-bit gaming, The Last Ninja was more than just another title on a cassette tape—it was the closest thing to playing a martial arts movie.

The series gained notoriety for its visual style and revolutionary mechanics, but it also earned respect for its brutal difficulty and artistic ambition. Developed by System 3, a studio that always seemed to think beyond the limits of the hardware, the trilogy (and the ghost of a fourth installment) became synonymous with quality, innovation, and unforgiving gameplay. Every entry in the series built on what came before, offering not just new levels, but completely new moods and contexts—from ancient Japan to modern-day New York.

 In 1993, the video game world was saturated with side-scrolling platformers. But few had the backing, charm, or cinematic polish of Disney’s Aladdin on the Sega Genesis. Developed by Virgin Games in collaboration with Disney, this version of Aladdin wasn't just another licensed tie-in—it was a technological and artistic leap that stunned players and critics alike. For the first time, it felt like a game truly looked and moved like an animated film.

At the center of this achievement was a rare partnership: actual Disney animators were brought in to create the character frames. These weren’t reinterpretations by game artists—they were literal hand-drawn frames scanned directly into the game using a technique called “Digicel,” developed by Virgin’s animation team. This gave Aladdin a visual style that hadn’t been seen before on a home console. The movement, expressions, and fluidity of the characters rivaled anything players had seen up to that point.

The collaboration came with risk. Disney was known for being highly protective of its properties, and the idea of lending their animators to a video game was uncharted territory. But the gamble paid off. Led by programmer David Perry, the Virgin team created a game that wasn’t just beautiful—it was tightly constructed, deeply playable, and faithful to the spirit of the animated movie without simply rehashing it.