Phoenix

Phoenix is a haunting game in ways I can barely start to describe. In spite of the proper Galaxian clone you would normally expct, you are introduced to Phoenix with a sombre, evocative piece of classical music, before you start ripping apart glorious, fiery beings that screech like hellbeasts and tackle you with their incomrehensible flying patterns. Your only means of defense are your gun and your(rather effective) shield, but the true treat to Phoenix undoubdetly lies in its presentation and its inherent mysticism, and stands out from the other 80s arcade games precisely because of that: There's something about the unknown developers who made this game who thought it would be worth it to go an extra mile on the project and dedicate themselves to making Phoenix look both beautiful and savage.

Just what are these birds and why are you tasked with combating them? Why does their first pattern form a piercing eye? Are you the hero or are you commiting genocide? How do the mothership and the alien boss(also a video game first) play into this grand scheme? Phoenix begs to raise many questions, and it is its design choices that for me personally make this game a standing queen among the utmost championed arcade games.

What a treat is Phoenix. It was never the most popular game around, but those who liked it had a tendency to love it. It wasn't that easy a thing to find a machine in my city - you really had to go searching for one. It is a game that no matter how well you are playing, you never really feel comfortable or particularly confident.

There are several elements of Phoenix that contribute to it being an exciting and unique gaming experience. Topping the list is the brilliant decision to include a random element in the movement of the enemy. The game presents itself as a standard space shooter, but with the enemy birds flapping their way around the screen in a non-predictable fashion the player is forced into a state of constant alertness. Sometimes the birds soar, sometimes they skit around like maniacs, and you simply don't know when you are in a safe enough position to shoot at them - you just have to go for it and hope. The second stage features hovering eggs and larger birds that explode in a very satisfactory manner when your shots are on target.

Another neat feature of Phoenix that adds to the overall experience is the kooky sounds. After inserting your coin and pressing start you are lured into a sense of comfort with a tender rendition of "Romance de Amor". Then the birds appear and next thing they are tweeting like demented hell creatures as they attempt to mesmerise you with their hypnotic movements. But this is nothing compared to the all out psychotic aural panic you will encounter at the boss level. Not only do you have to contend with a massive UFO descending upon you along with the random assault of a flock of lunatic birds, all the while you are trying to keep your wits together while the machine screams at you from every other angle. Anxiety never came so easy. Perversely, once you have defeated the boss the game rewards you with a calming snatch of "Für Elise" before throwing the next wave of deranged feathered friends your way.

Phoenix is, admittedly, an odd looking game. For 1980 the graphics were ambitious when lined up against some other titles of the era. The gameplay is frantic and you need to play for an extended period to gain anywhere near a respectable looking score. Certainly not on everybody's radar, but one of my all time favourites.