The walls of our home won't be complete until one of them sports a pixelated portrait of Ellen Ripley from Konami's Aliens arcade game

I've had a bit of a "thing" for the Alien and Aliens films since I watched them for the first time as a teenager.

You'd think that would mean I've long had a similar thing for games inspired by those flicks, but it doesn't.

There have been a few exceptions, of course. Sega's Alien Syndrome and Alien Storm are two examples. Xenophobe is another.

None of the above compete with Konami's Aliens quarter-muncher from 1990, however. OK, so it takes some liberties with the source material. It's such a blast to play, though, that I don't have any problems overlooking those "creative differences."

It's also gorgeous, of course, with wonderfully detailed backdrops and sprites that evoke the 1986 movie that spawned it.

Apparently Atlanta-based artist Ashley Anderson agrees with that last tidbit. After all, he recently referenced the above-mentioned Aliens arcade game in the acrylic painting that can be seen below.

Before you go and think this is just some paint-by-numbers copycat, consider what Anderson said about it on Instagram:

"I limited my palette this time to traditional portrait colors, prussian blue (to mix with umber to make chromatic blacks), titanium white (for opacity), and zinc white (for warmth and translucence)."

As much as I like this piece, I like this next one, which Anderson calls "Ellen (Withering Heights)," even more.

For the curious: Anderson made "Ellen (Withering Heights)" using color pencil on toned paper.

I'm also quite fond of the similar "Sigourney Weaver," below, from 2010:

Anderson produced it using graphite on paper.

As for what prompted him to go down this particular path eight or so years ago, the artist shared the following explanation on Flickr:

"In keeping with my interest in pixellation's relationship with painting and its mechanics [and] traditions, I have begun collecting images of recognizable personalities as they are depicted in games and drawing them as one might create a portrait drawing from a photograph or a live sitter."

Want to see more of Anderson's pixelated depictions of the Aliens protagonist? Check out "Ellen (Ms X #1)" and "Ellen as April as Ellen."

Consider scouring his Instagram and Flickr photostreams, too. Both are filled with fascinating, game-inspired works of art.

My 10 Most Influential Games: Bubble Bobble (Arcade)

Although I have a pretty good memory, I'm rarely able to recall my first experiences with specific video games.

Thankfully, that's not true of my introduction to Bubble Bobble.

As I'm sure I've mentioned here before, my hometown has a rather nice bowling alley that my friends and I visited regularly while we were growing up. Tucked into its back corner were a slough of arcade cabinets and pinball machines, and we spent as much time playing them as we did bowling.

Among the games that gobbled up our hard-earned allowance money: Gauntlet, Karate Champ, Paperboy, Pole Position, Ring King, Xenophobe--and of course Bubble Bobble.

To be completely honest, I'm not entirely sure what drew my attention to Bubble Bobble's cabinet for the first time. I have a feeling it was the game's glorious, ear-wormy jingle, but it very well may have been its adorable, rainbow-coated visuals.

Something I remember clearly about my initial experiences with this classic quarter-muncher: I absolutely sucked at it. Although I blame some of my ineptitude on not fully understanding Bubble Bobble's rules right off the bat, but mostly I blame it on my life-long discomfort with using a joystick. (Ironic, right? Seriously, though, I've always preferred using a d-pad.)

Still, I kept coming back to it, and over time I got better and better at this Fukio Mitsuji-made (for Taito) title.

So, how did it influence my current taste in video games? It did so in a couple of ways, actually.

One is that it hurled me down the path toward loving games that feature collectible food items. Ms. Pac-Man showed me to its entrance (thanks to the level that offers up a pretzel rather than a piece of fruit, strangely enough), but Bubble Bobble and its bowls of sherbet, corndogs, sushi and martinis pushed me well inside.

Ever since, I've drooled over almost any game that includes such nabables. A few examples: Coryoon, Monster Lair, The New Zealand Story and Parasol Stars. (For more, read my old post, "the 10 fruitiest games (of which I'm aware).")

Bubble Bobble shaped my current taste in video games in another way as well--by opening my eyes to the wonderful world of single-screen platformers. (Here are some of my favorites, in case you're curious.)

Was Bubble Bobble the first single-screen platformer to see the light of day? Not by a long shot. A game called The Fairyland Story--also published by Taito, interestingly enough--beat Bub and Bob to the arcades by at least a year, and I wouldn't be surprised if a handful of other titles could claim the same.

Regardless, Bubble Bobble introduced me to the genre that's now one of my favorites. And not only that, but in the ensuing decades, it's served as a point of comparison for every other single-screen platformer that's come my way.

Naturally, none of those wannabes have quite stacked up to this 1986 release. I think that's because the game they so desperately try to ape is supremely focused and straightforward.

A case in point: unlike most of the games that have tried to snatch its genre-king crown over the years, Bubble Bobble keeps its control scheme simple. You can jump, you can blow bubbles, you can hop on bubbles--and that's basically it. (OK, so some levels let you pop bubbles that send lightning bolts at enemies or cover platforms with swaths of fire, but they're in the minority. The bulk of the game's levels force you to focus on the trio of aforementioned actions.)

Also, Bubble Bobble's stages never take up more than a single screen (hence the name of the gaming genre that contains it). And then, of course, there are its timeless graphics and its grin-inducing background tune.

At the end of the day, though, the aspect that keeps me coming back to Bubble Bobble, and that causes me to label it "influential," is its unfailingly enjoyable gameplay. Even when one of its stages is kicking my butt (an all too regular occurrence, I'm afraid), it never stops being fun.

I can't say that about too many games, can you?

See also: previous '10 Most Influential Games' posts about The 7th Guest and Balloon Kid.

I'm not sure if this should be a congratulatory post or an RIP post--regardless, happy 63rd anniversary, Taito!

I haven't always been the Taito fan I am today. Oh, sure, I liked Arkanoid and Space Invaders well enough when I was a kid, and of course I loved (and continue to love) Bubble Bobble, too, but that's about where my knowledge of and interest in this Tokyo-based company began and ended until a few years ago.

What changed and when? To be completely honest, I'm not sure. The best answer I can come up with at the moment is that my perception and appreciation of Taito--which first opened its doors on Aug. 24, 1953--changed slowly over time.



If I were to guess, I'd say this evolution (of sorts) began when my adoration of the game-maker's Bubble Bobble pushed me to give follow-ups Rainbow Islands and Parasol Stars a second (or even third) look. Neither platformer impressed me when I first played them earlier in life, but revisiting them with fresh eyes and a clear mind prompted a nearly instantaneous change of heart.

The same could be said of Taito titles like Don Doko Don, KiKi KaiKai, Mizubaku Daibouken (aka Liquid Kids) and The New Zealand Story. As much as I wanted all of these games to bowl me over during my initial experiences with them, none succeeded for one reason or another.

Thankfully, my newfound attraction to Rainbow Islands and Parasol Stars caused me to give them a second chance--and now I'm a fan of each and every one. (Mizubaku Daibouken, especially--it's now one of my all-time favorite games.)



After that, I actively searched for similar Taito releases I skipped over during the time in my life when I was idiotically unaware of the company's brilliance. That bit of legwork turned me on to titles like Chack'n Pop, Chuka Taisen, Hana Taaka Daka!?, Insector X, Jigoku Meguri, JuJu Densetsu and The Fairyland Story.

I also loosened up and gave some of the portable versions of these games a spin. Previously, I turned up my nose at most of them because they either lacked color--the idea of playing Bubble Bobble on the original GameBoy horrified me at the time--or they just seemed too watered down to be worth my while.

Imagine my shock, then, when I found many of Taito's on-the-go ports to be surprisingly well made, not to mention enjoyable. A few cases in point: Bubble Bobble for Game Gear, Bubble Bobble Junior for GameBoy and Puzzle Bobble for Game Gear.

What makes all of these Taito-made games so great? Their graphics and soundtracks are the obvious replies, but they're really only the tip of the iceberg. They draw you in, but if the gameplay that supports those superficial aspects was anything but stellar, most people would walk away after plodding through a few stages.

That's the component that keeps me coming back to Taito's best creations, at least. Every single title mentioned so far controls like a dream. And not only that, but most of them simply are a blast to play. To get a feel for what I mean, go play a couple of rounds of Bubble Bobble, Rainbow Islands, Parasol Stars or Mizubaku Daibouken.

Despite the challenge that's at the core of each of these games, the component that's likely to stand out for most folks is how fun it is to blow and pop bubbles (Bubble Bobble), conjure up and leap onto rainbows (Rainbow Islands) and send a torrent of water crashing into a mob of stunned enemies (both Parasol Stars and Mizubaku Daibouken).



That's the kind of magic Taito's designers and developers produced during the company's heyday, and that's why I'm doing my best to (belatedly) honor them today. I'd highly recommend you do the same if you've got the interest, means and time, as there's no doubt in my mind that your life will be made richer for putting even a few minutes into some of the games discussed here.

Note: a hearty thank you goes out to my Twitter pal, TepidSnake, for making me aware of the 63rd anniversary of Taito's existence

Nice Package! (Valkyrie no Densetsu, PC Engine)

I've had kind of an up and down history with Namco's ancient Valkyrie no Densetsu (aka Legend of Valkyrie). Early on, it was the kind of gaming experience that caused me to wrinkle my nose in disgust. In recent months, though, my reaction to this antiquated adventure title, first released as a Japanese quarter-muncher back in 1989, has softened.

As for what prompted this change of heart, well, I'd be lying if I said the 1990 PC Engine port's beautiful packaging--its eye-popping instruction manual, especially--didn't play a role.



Really, though, Valkyrie no Densetsu’s cover art, HuCard label and how-to booklet just gave me that last little nudge needed to get me to buy the game.

Before that, I’d actually come around to its initially off-putting visuals and its limited gameplay. The latter was easier to embrace than the former, despite the fact that it pales in comparison to similar offerings like The Legend of Zelda. (Whereas even the first Zelda effort allows you to wander and explore, Valkyrie limits you to a set path—which at times feels annoyingly restrictive.)

Does all of this drool-covered praise mean I’d suggest other folks add Valkyrie no Densetsu to their collections? I guess you could say that—if you own a PC Engine (or some other device capable of playing that system’s credit card-sized cartridges) and if you’re fine with playing games from an entirely different era.

Even if you can shake your head yes to both of those requirements, though, I’d still recommend playing Valkyrie in some form or fashion (such as through emulation) before handing over your hard-earned cash for it.



Thankfully, you shouldn’t find yourself in the poorhouse if you ignore my advice and purchase it anyway, as copies tend to be reasonably priced.

Plus, even if you end up hating the game—or even if you only play it a few times and then decide you’re done with it—you’ll still be able to enjoy its colorful instruction manual, a couple of pages of which can be ogled in the photos found above and below.



There's a lot more where all of this came from, though, believe me. I guess this means I have to hit the scanner soon and produce another "Manual Stimulation" post, eh?

While I get to that, have any of you played any iteration of Valkyrie no Densetsu? Although the PC Engine port is the focus of this write-up, the original arcade version was included on 1997's Namco Museum Volume 5 and it also made its way onto the (Japanese) Wii Virtual Console in 2009.

See also: 'Second Chances (Valkyrie no Densetsu, PC Engine)' and previous 'Nice Package!' posts

Manual Stimulation (SonSon, Famicom)

As much as I've always enjoyed playing the Famicom port of Capcom's SonSon, I've never felt compelled to actually own it.

Until recently, of course. Even then, I only bought the complete-in-box copy that provided me with the manual seen here because I came across a fairly cheap one during a regular sweep of eBay.



Now that it's finally in my possession, I've got to say I would've gladly paid twice that auction's ending price thanks to this gorgeous instruction booklet.





After all, aside from its first few pages (above), it's chock-full of top-notch illustrations. (Click on the scans found throughout this post if you want to take a much better, and closer, look at them.)





Hell, exactly half of the SonSon manual's how-to information is conveyed via a shockingly adroit comic strip.





Sadly, I don't understand the bulk of the text that's offered up throughout the comic strip in question, but I get the gist of it--and that's more than enough for me.





Topping off all of the above with a big, juicy cherry is the sheet music of the SonSon theme song that brings everything to a close.



What do all of you think of the focus of this installment of "Manual Stimulation"?

Also, to those of you who've played any iteration of SonSon: what did you, or do you, think of it?

See also: previous 'Manual Stimulation' posts

Nice Package! (Rainbow Islands, Famicom)

I haven't always been a fan of the Famicom version of Taito's Rainbow Islands.

For the longest time, in fact, I turned up my nose at it because few of its many components--graphics, soundtrack, gameplay--hold a candle to those found in the arcade original.

The one aspect of this 1988 Rainbow Islands port, if you can call it that, I've loved since I first came across it is its Japanese box art. (See this "Which Box Art is Better?" post from 2011 for proof.)



It should be pretty easy to understand why that is once you take in the photo above. Not only is it brilliantly colorful, but everything but the striped backdrop appears to be made out of clay.



Other parts of Rainbow Islands' Famicom packaging it are well worth ogling, too. Hell, even the sides of its cardboard box is quite a looker, if you ask me. (What can I say? I'm a sucker Japanese words spelled out in attractively crafted bubble letters.)



This game's instruction manual is similarly striking. Well, not so much its cover--although I do appreciate how the pink texts pops against all of the white and gray and black beneath it--but definitely its interior.

Boy, does this piece of Pac-Land art (produced by madamluna) bring back memories...

Of all the games I've attached memories to over the years, Pac-Land has to be among the oddest. After all, it's not like this quarter-muncher from 1984 is one of Namco's most-loved releases. Hell, it's not even one of the company's most-loved Pac-Man spin-offs.

I guess Pac-Land just came into my life at the right place and time. The former is especially relevant to this story, I think, considering the setting of my earliest memory of the game is a shopping-mall arcade that was located a few hours away from where I grew up.

I'm sad to say I can't remember exactly how old I was when I first encountered the Pac-Land cabinet in the aforementioned arcade, but I'm pretty sure I was in my early teens. Regardless, I distinctly remember my incredulous reaction to it. After all, this was a Pac-Man game that looked and played like the original Super Mario Bros.

And don't forget: this was back when the Internet was but a gleam in Al Gore's eye. If you didn't read gaming mags at that time, you often didn't know which quarter-munchers were being released or when until you walked into your local arcade, bar, bowling alley and the like.

Anyway, I was blown away the first time I laid eyes on Pac-Land. Admittedly, its odd control scheme--one button moves Pac-Man to the right, one moves him to the left and one makes him jump--leaves something to be desired, as does the repetitive simplicity of its overall gameplay, but this platformer's vividly colorful, "Saturday morning cartoon" visuals do quite a bit to make up for those flaws--or at least that's the effect they've always had on me.

All of the above should help explain why the piece of art that serves as the focus of this post resonated with me as much as it did when I first came across it late last week. Actually, I'm pretty sure it would have resonated with me even if I weren't an unabashed Pac-Land fan thanks to the unmistakable look of innocence and wonder that's splashed across Pac-Man's face.

Artist Pauli Kohberger, aka madamluna, is responsible for this winsome illustration, by the way. If you'd like to see more examples of her work--and, really, why wouldn't you?--head over to madamluna.deviantart.com at your earliest convenience.