Looking back at Namco’s Time Crisis

Point a gun at the screen. Pull the trigger. For years, the rail shooter, the videogame equivalent of a clay pigeon shoot, barely changed a jot.

Gamers had been pointing plastic guns at screens since the dawn of time, with devices available for the Magnavox Odyssey and Nintendo Entertainment System.

It was Taito’s Operation Wolf, however, that really brought the rail shooter crashing into the public’s consciousness. Apart from a massive uzi strapped to the front of the cabinet, the game’s Rambo-inspired violence made it an object of fascination for aggressive youths everywhere in the late 80s.

The shooters that followed were remarkably similar, asking nothing more of the player than a steady aim and a swift trigger finger. Games such as Mechanized Attack and Line Of Fire were content to offer a straight clone of the gameplay established by Operation Wolf, and one of gaming’s most accessible subgenres appeared to be stuck in an inescapable rut.

Then along came Namco’s Time Crisis in 1995, which revitalised a tired genre with the addition of a few brilliantly simple mechanics. Where every other gun game before the mid-90s gave the player no direct protection from enemy fire (though most allowed you to knock out incoming grenades and rockets with a bullet, if you were quick), Time Crisis added a foot pedal that could move the game’s protagonist in and out of cover.

Years before Gears Of War revolutionised the third-person shooter genre in a similar manner, Time Crisis’ simple cover mechanic added a modicum of strategy to an otherwise mindless genre, and an adrenaline-inducing sense of danger to boot.

Introducing protagonist Richard Miller (who was surely some distant relation of Albatross, the star of Namco’s own Rolling Thunder), Time Crisis wasted no time in throwing the player into the first exchange of fire.

Initially hiding behind the dubious protection of a wooden plate, the application of a foot to the pedal allowed players to stand up and take their first pot shots at the enemy standing a few metres away. To avoid their fire and reload, the player simply removed their foot again. When all the enemies were dead, the action continued on to a new location, where a fresh wave of vicious targets lurked.

To add a further layer of tension to the game, Namco introduced a timer, which constantly ticked down as the shoot-outs rattled on. Only by clearing each wave of enemies did the timer extend by a few precious seconds, investing the game with the adrenaline-pumping atmosphere more commonly found in a racing game.

Other, less obvious design elements also contributed to Time Crisis’ brilliance. The stylised, exaggerated movements of its enemies, who spun and reeled when shot, made each kill enormously satisfying, as did the snappy recoil on the arcade machine’s chunky handgun.

The fact that every enemy and scripted event occurred in the same sequence in every game merely added to Time Crisis’ compulsive gameplay, since memorising the layout of each stage’s attack patterns was vital to success.

Like a straight-to-video action movie, Time Crisis’ stages were filled with colourful enemies and memorable set pieces, including stage two’s ginger haired assassin who specialised in throwing knives. The game also featured a wonderfully cheesy script that includes lines such as “Both you and this stinkin' castle can burn for all I care! So long!”

Now 15 years old, Time Crisis could charitably be described as antiquated, but this somehow adds to its appeal. Where most modern shooters are rendered in shades of drizzly grey, Time Crisis was a riot of colour, its enemies helpfully clad in red, blue and green uniforms.

Numerous sequels followed, including the forthcoming spin-off for the PlayStation 3, Razing Storm, but the original Time Crisis is still eminently playable. Like a first-person take on Namco’s own classic Galaga, Time Crisis’ test of memory and reflexes make it both timeless and utterly addictive.