Where were you 15 years ago today? I can tell you exactly where I was … picking up my Dreamcast.
9/9/99 was the U.S. launch date of Sega’s most forward-thinking chunk of hardware. Unlike today, where consoles struggle to monopolize the living room’s multimedia experience, the late ’90s and early 2000s were the sunset of an era where console hardware was rigidly focused on doing one thing very well: deliver better gaming content than the competition.
[aditude-amp id="flyingcarpet" targeting='{"env":"staging","page_type":"article","post_id":1547266,"post_type":"story","post_chan":"none","tags":null,"ai":false,"category":"none","all_categories":"games,","session":"D"}']Sega knew that in order for a console to dominate the competition, it had to have a strong library. The developer pulled together an amazing Dreamcast lineup with one of the better, if not best, ratios of good vs. bad titles to date. A big part of this was the console’s strong support from key third-party publishers who were hot at the time, like Capcom (the Resident Evil series) and Namco (SoulCalibur). Even more impressive, however, was the console’s first-party support.
Above: Rez received a high-definition re-release on Xbox Live Arcade in 2008.
Sega bankrolled incredibly risky and highly creative endeavors within its development teams. These games may not have pulled the Dreamcast out of its doomed financial situation, but they bought the company decades worth of clout. Games like Shenmue, Phantasy Star Online, Rez, Jet Set Radio, Chu Chu Rocket, Space Channel 5, Sonic Adventure, Crazy Taxi, and Seaman all introduced amazing innovations in gameplay and visual design and they continue to influence today’s industry. Shenmue, for example, was an early example of an open-world game that came out two years before Grand Theft Auto III blew the genre wide open. And Seaman predicted Microsoft’s Kinect voice controls by making talking to your TV a gameplay mechanic instead of just crazy, suspect behavior.
And experimentation didn’t stop at the software. Sega’s console also introduced features that have become standard. For example, the broadband functionality and SegaNet were early steps toward today’s console online gaming and marketplace solutions. And the Visual Memory Unit (VMU) was an early attempt to convince developers that their interactive experiences didn’t have to begin and end at the console.
It’s safe to say that I think the Sega Dreamcast is an incredible footnote in our industry’s history, and luckily, some of my GamesBeat colleagues agree with me. To celebrate, I’m handing out some Sonic party plates, cutting up a gigantic imaginary cake shaped like Hidekazu Yukawa (then-senior managing director of Sega and system spokesperson), and asking everyone to share their fondest memories of one of the most beloved consoles of all time.
You can partake in the reminiscing party as well. GamesBeat would love to hear about your favorite Dreamcast moments in the comments section below. If you need more incentive join in on our red-swirled lovefest, we’ll be picking one of your heartfelt stories at random, and the chosen commenter will receive a free code for a downloadable game from our collection.
Falling in love with SoulCalibur
Above: “Please … come back.” — Street Fighter
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write about the novelty of playing broadband-enabled console games online, the memorable marketing campaign — including Sega hiring Saturday Night Live alum Kevin Nealon to do a Weekend Update-style presentation to the press — or the hours and hours (and hours) I spent on Phantasy Star Online.
But the single thing from the Dreamcast era that had the biggest and longest lasting impact on me? SoulCalibur.
Yes, this 3D fighting game existed in arcades well before it landed on Sega’s machine. But it didn’t look this gorgeous or run this smoothly. And with at-home, anytime, coin-free access, my friends and coworkers could practice and play all we want, continually learning the game’s intricacies and refining our strategies until we all became straight-out obsessed.
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SoulCalibur took up our lives and waking hours, both on and off the clock. (Luckily, I was working at the magazine Electronic Gaming Monthly, so game breaks were the norm.) We ran office tournaments. We even had a daily challenge ladder system, just to give us more excuses to play during the workday. We were playing SoulCalibur all the damn time, and when we weren’t, we were talking about how we wish we were.
I knew the game was “the one” when I said to my friend over a beer sometime in 1999, “You know what? I think I like SoulCalibur more than Street Fighter.” I won’t get started on how meaningful that other fighting game is to me, but let me just say that, at least for this nerdy gamer, that was one bold statement to make.
– Dan “Shoe” Hsu, editor-in-chief
9/9/99, SoulCalibur, and a car crash
Above: Damn it, Kilik. Stop running away.
I remember Sept. 9, 1999 vividly. Yes, it was the day that Sega released its beloved but ill-fated console, but it was also the day I got into my first car crash (just a week after getting my license).
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The school day had just ended, and I drove my 1980 Chevy Malibu — which, as it turned out, was just as beloved and ill-fated as the Dreamcast — straight over to my friend Scott’s house. See, he had been talking all day about how he had duped his parents into getting him Sega’s new console on launch day. And after months of reading in my favorite magazines about long days ignoring writing and work to play SoulCalibur (hi, Shoe!), I was geeked to finally get the chance to try it for myself.
We spent hours playing that damn game.
Publisher Namco’s 3D fighter gave us the first real look at the future of gaming. Its intricate details and fluid animations were beautiful. It was also highly competitive, and my entire group of friends showed up to take turns playing into the night.
At some point, my parents called Scott’s folks to find out where I was (this was before cellphones, although I think I had a pager that I never checked). Reluctantly, I piled into the Malibu with another friend, Matt, who also needed a ride and lived down the street from me.
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Above: The soul of your slightly used American automobile still burns!
During the short drive, Matt and I got into a heated argument about how he could only win if he spammed one of Nightmare’s (the game’s gigantic, armor-wearing swordsman) cheaper attacks. Well, maybe I was paying too much attention to the fight and not to the road. Maybe I started going a bit too fast and went into a turn slightly too fast.
I felt the back tires start to fishtail, and I slammed on the brakes.
There was no coming back from that.
Next thing I knew, the rear passenger side of my car had slammed into a fire hydrant, and my bumper decided it wasn’t really feeling up to being part of the car anymore.
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I don’t blame SoulCalibur … but I do blame Matt and his cheap tactics.
The next year or two, we all spent a lot of time over at Scott’s playing the Tony Hawk skating games and that drawer-opening simulator Shenmue, but I’ll always most associate Dreamcast with my first car wreck.
– Jeffrey Grubb, news editor
Renting a Dreamcast from Hollywood Video
Above: Renting a console meant walking out of the store with an awesome, padded suitcase. You felt like a secret agent.
I realize as I type this that it’s kind of weird that my favorite Dreamcast memory happened before I even owned one, but so be it.
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The old media-rental chain Hollywood Video let people take home the system before Sega even released it. Bback in the ’90s, I was a huge Sega fanboy (I seriously strained some grade school friendships over Sega Saturn/Sony PlayStation debates), so getting a Dreamcast early, even temporarily, was equivalent to winning the lottery … in space … along with an unlimited supply of Surge and Dunkaroos.
Even when I first got my hands on a PlayStation 4 and Xbox One this past year, I lamented the fact that a next-gen leap will never feel as momentous as it did when I first booted up my borrowed Dreamcast. I also rented Sonic Adventure, which looked like the slickest, smoothest bit of gaming I had ever seen. Sure, the 3D platformer hasn’t aged as well as Mario 64, but at the time it felt like a revelation. This was the future of gaming.
The only downside was that we couldn’t rent a VMU along with our system, so we couldn’t actually save our progress. Of course, being the responsible kids my brothers and I were, we just left the system on all the time until we had to return it. I mean, who wants to keep starting Sonic Adventure over from the beginning? Even back then, I couldn’t only take so much of those cutscenes.
I have to say, I had never come close to committing a crime in my life, but I seriously contemplating keeping the Dreamcast and telling Hollywood Video that the dog ate it. To hell with the safety deposit.
Today, the Dreamcast is the only system from before the Xbox 360/PlayStation 3/ Wii era that I keep near my TV. Honestly, I don’t play it all that much anymore. I just feel better knowing that it’s there.
– Mike Minotti, contributing writer/community manager
Perfecting my runs in Sonic Adventure
Above: Everyone remembers this scene
The Dreamcast ignited my love affair with fighting games, and thanks to it (and my big brother) I was able to play arcade classics like Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike, Project Justice, Power Stone, and Fatal Fury: Mark of the Wolves.
So let’s talk about Sonic the Hedgehog.
Until the Dreamcast, I was firmly in the Nintendo camp. I watched the Sonic cartoons and read the comics, but I only got to play the Genesis games much later. Sonic Adventure 1 and 2 were the first ones I played roughly when they came out. The hedgehog’s 3D journeys are more about maintaining your flow than straight-up platforming: Find the best routes, avoid crashing into random enemies, get the high score. And you have a voice inside you that says, “Always keep on running!”
The first level of Adventure, Emerald Coast, encapsulates that mantra as you whisk through beach walks, hurtle across mossy cliffs, and outrun a killer whale. This stage, along with Speed Highway and Lost World, are the game’s best when it comes to establishing and maintaining a fast pace while slamming you with then-fantastic graphics. The sequel built upon that concept by adding rails to grind on and removing the first entry’s charge requirement for the Light Speed Dash.
Sadly, when I recently replayed the first Sonic Adventure, the now-infamous bad camera angles and frustrating random deaths became a determent to my fun. And I’m not quite as fond of my memories of fishing as Big the Cat or completing 10-minute treasure hunts as Knuckles the Echidna. So why reminisce about those titles rather than the fighting games I mentioned above? I can have fun with those brawlers even today, while the joy of playing Sonic may be something I can’t revisit. If I pop those disks back into the system and turn on the power button, I could lose those moments to time, like tears in the rain.
– Chris Hoadley, contributing writer and moderator
When Seaman deduced my political affiliation
Above: “This is my judging face. I’m judging you.”
“Based on what you’ve said, I would guess you are a Demo-o-crat.”
It was the fall of 2000, a few months before George W. Bush became the 43rd President, so the fact that I was talking politics with someone wasn’t that unusual. Or rather, it wouldn’t have been if the “someone” wasn’t a fish with a human face and a close, personal relationship with actor Leonard Nimoy.
Released on August 9, 2000 for the Dreamcast, the Sega virtual-pet simulation Seaman didn’t just let you take care of a computerized dog or cat. Instead, it tasked you with looking after a fishman who, over time, evolved into a lizardman and then, if you did it right, an escaped convict. They even got Mr. Spock to explain it all.
But along with feeding him, you also used a special mic plugged into the Dreamcast’s controller to talk to Seaman. And not only was he rather inquisitive, but he also used what he learned to ask better and more probing questions. Which is how we got to talking about politics in the first place, and thus how he ultimately figured out that I was, as he carefully pronounced it, a “Demo-o-crat.” (To which I replied, incredulously, “I’m sorry!?!”)
Eventually, our conversation evolved into different realms, just as Seaman evolved legs and ultimately figured out how to get out of his cage. I don’t know what ever happened to him — Sega never released Seaman 2 in the U.S. — but I like to think that he’s out there, somewhere, holding a clipboard and standing in front of a supermarket, asking shoppers if he can have a moment of their time to ask them some questions.
– Paul Semel, contributing writer
The only perfect score I’ve ever handed out
Above: GASP!
Sega’s console represents a landmark in my writing career. The Japanese version of the Dreamcast launched a little bit after I started to get a significant foot in the game-industry door. By the time I had graduated to a media position, to the chagrin of my then-managing editor Dan “Shoe” Hsu (I can only imagine dealing with the young, punk-ass version of myself), the console had launched and was rolling into its first year. As I said, there were a lot of firsts for me surrounding the Sega Dreamcast, including this one: reviewing the perfect game.
The boss knew I was anxious to try this title out. Every time a preview beta would land on another writer’s desk, I immediately set up a chair right behind them to backseat play them into frustration. So when the review copies of the Japanese beta arrived in Shoe’s mailbox, he assigned me to the lead article. Joining me were my two colleagues: Christian Nutt and Shane Bettenhausen.
The game in question? Phantasy Star Online.
We went into the world’s first console-based online role-playing game expecting a spectacular flop of some kind. After all, this is the first of its species. You just don’t get such a massive concept as online console gaming correct the first time. I was expecting something functional, at best.
Four hours later, Christian, Shane, and I turned off our Dreamcasts, and we reflected in silence for a few minutes. I had just had the most enjoyable co-operative gaming experience of my life. I suddenly dreaded writing the review.
We were in an era where critics admitting to finding no faults in a title opened themselves up to extreme scrutiny — unlike today, where the Internet eats you alive if you rate anything under a 9 out of 10. Yet there was Phantasy Star Online, challenging me to find something wrong. It shocked the jaded and obnoxious version of my younger self.
Above: Phantasy Star Online
It is one of those games that, for its time, was flawless. Every issue that I could think of that an online console RPG would face, it solved. The pacing of each individual section was just right, so players who wanted to do a quick session with their friends after work weren’t playing until midnight. The game handled communication between players visually through quick, shorthand emoticons that didn’t require fumbling with a keyboard. The four-player cap kept parties small and manageable. Developer Sonic Team designed the environments to be extremely small and tight, but the art direction gave off a sense of mass. Timed combo attacks broke up the monotony of hitting an attack button over and over again (an issue with the then-reigning Diablo series). The enemy encounters were dynamic, and the class design allowed everyone to have an important job no matter what combination of players you had.
Everything solved very specific development and gameplay challenges in intelligent and clever ways. In fact, some of these solutions laid the foundation of our modern online console games. We owe a lot to the things the Phantasy Star Online development team tested out.
As for the article, I’m not sure what I actually wrote in that review. Honestly, I don’t want to remember because my ability to explain gameplay at the time likely comes off like gibberish. I do know that I slapped a 10 out of 10 on that thing. Shoe grilled me hard on that rating. He wanted me to be absolutely sure that I knew what a 10 meant. I was putting not just my reputation on the line but the entire editorial staff’s as well. But I would’ve bought two more Dreamcasts just to play this game at home, and if that’s not a clear sign of something special, then I don’t know what is.
The day the review went live, the entire editorial team was laid off (for budget reasons). Other outlets handed Phantasy Star Online 6s, 7s, and 8s. The fact that I didn’t align with popular opinion didn’t bother me anymore; I was glad to have gotten the rare chance to reward a truly great game with a perfect score before being ejected out of the games media. To this day, I wonder and hope that someone saw that perfect score, bought the game, and had their minds blown.
– Stephen Kleckner, contributing writer