Harmful Park Review

Harmful Park: High-brow Gag and Pure Shooting

Platform: PlayStation

The shooter is a simple creature. Whether patrolling alien worlds or scorched-earth landscapes, the premise is always shoot, fly, or die—it’s a genre without much room for improvement. Classics like Gradius and Raiden defined the category, with successors refining it to absolute glory. Whether horizontally or vertically-set, by the mid-90s, the shooter had been perfected to its own detriment. Starships, tanks, space bugs, power-ups—the genre had become a stage of cliches.

So, what did the shooter do? It got kawaii. Early games like TwinBee (vertical) and Fantasy Zone (horizontal) traded the austere spacescapes and industrial backdrops for green hills and sparkling seas and enemies almost too cute to shoot. It wasn’t an evolution so much as a side-step, but the added flair gave the overarching genre an added injection of personability—of empathy—it so lacked before.

Thus, the shooter grooved into two—the more self-serious fare of, say, Thunder Force and Gaiares sustained the genre’s more classical branch, while the likes of Parodius and Cotton helped develop what would later be coined colloquially as the “cute ‘em up.” In theory, these “cuter shooters” existed to rekindle the flickering interest of a 1990s audience quickly shifting to 3-D gaming. In reality, the classical shooter had already reached its evolutionary limit…and was probably doomed no matter the gimmick or aesthetic used.

The tragedy, really, was that two games almost prevailed—two would-be redeemers made to save an entire genre. On the more serious side, Einhander emerged as a grim and gritty classic, an unmatched masterpiece that somehow failed to attract the masses. But it wasn’t alone; an even less-recognized marvel came from the opposite direction, a secret weapon crafted by the lowly and unknown Sky Think System. Where Einhander was pure metal and gloam, this game was whim and sentimentality put to pixel…a game of pure zeal and emotional appeal meant to succeed, apparently, where Einhander had failed. The game, of course, is Harmful Park—a work that represents the very best of the cute ‘em up subset, and yet remains strangely dejected.

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While not obvious to most Westerners, the title “Harmful Park” is a clever play on “Heartful Park,” the Disneyland-esque amusement center that provides the game’s maniacal setting. The mastermind behind the park’s malfunction is the so-called Dr. Tequila, a mad-scientist type who’s repurposed the park’s fantastical rides and animatronics into a six-stage tour-de-force of leering, ostentatious danger. It's a problem only two teenage girls can solve, apparently, as they enter the fray on their mother’s just-invented rocket bikes. Armed with exploding pies, heat-seeking jelly beans, and other fantastical weapons, they must dismantle the park’s subverted creations before disarming the mad maniac himself.

Although simple on the surface, the plot’s surprisingly nuanced…offering far more detail and characterization than the typical shooter affords. It’s certainly deeper than a witch seeking candy (Cotton) or a bunny girl riding an inexplicable missile (Parodius)—Park’s heroines Lesca and Lemone are unwittingly entangled in a (unrequited) love story that culminates into a poignant and somehow bittersweet denouement. It’s a somber conceit for a game of such sugary pretenses. But it’s only one part of what makes the game so special. The rest is context.

Harmful Park might resemble the non-sensical Parodius or the absurdist Keio, but it’s actually a methodically-plotted affair, its wacky setting properly justifying the shenanigans that ensue. The giant dragon that serves as the level 1 boss isn’t just a random monster—it’s an inflatable prop used for the park’s prehistoric locale. The freaky dolls popping out from level 2’s cuckoo clocks aren’t just targets of contrivance, they’re part of the stage’s horror house theme and ensemble. And the 100-ft teen idol attacking outside a massive drive-in movie theater? Okay, that one doesn’t make sense, but each of Harmful Park’s stages are just that: theaters of fantasy both terrifying and enticing. From safari cruises and midnight carousels to runaway rollercoasters and lethal, spinning tea cups…this might be the most outrageous mechanical fairyland ever committed to pixel. The developers clearly believed in their project, instilling a certain life and essence into every character, every enemy, tile, and bouncing projectile. The backgrounds swim in whimsy and come drenched in understated gags—canvases of sly asides and creepypasta-esque amusements. The music likewise roars and purrs, matching the jubilance or solemnity or climactic urgency of the always shifting themes and scenes.

And then, like a honeymoon cut short, the game is over. The victorious girls fly home to mother—and bed—as if it had all been a fantastical dream. Lesca and Lemone in Slumberland, indeed.

That brevity is, maybe, the game’s only real shortcoming. It’s undeniably brief; more a daydream than a dreamscape, the game can be overcome with only moderate effort. But that weakness is also its strength—this is a shooter for everyone, and on the easiest of the four difficulties, anyone can triumph…even on a single credit. The best cuter shooters aren’t about brutal difficulty, after all, but levity and fun.

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Like Einhander, Harmful Park was tasked with an unfair, secondary objective: to not just entertain, empathize, and excite…but to also convince a wayward public that the shooter was still relevant. Worthwhile. Cool.

No one knows why Sky Think System created this mostly-unseen masterpiece; the company was small and inexperienced and soon flickered from existence upon the game’s sleepy release. But it’s easy to imagine that the company, like Square and its Einhander, wanted to reestablish the shooter as a genre of surprise and artistic expression, of dramatic and comedic heft--an experience that edged between the real and surreal…every enemy, backdrop, and shot.

Even the heroines, far from being caricatures or big-headed cartoon characters, are just sisters sent in to complete an impossible task. They didn’t save their genre, but at least they helped their mama—restoring “Harmful” to “Heartful,” and giving heart to those lucky players who shared in their adventure.

The genre might be fighting for life, but with games like Harmful Park, the seeds are always there for an overdue resurrection. Surely, someday, the right creatives will find the title, find it inspiring, and craft a similar adventure. A new game grown on the golden inspiration of old.

A second wedding. A new honeymoon.

A “Hopeful Park” built anew.--D

Publisher: Sky Think Systems Developer: Sky Think Systems Release: 1997 Genre: Shooter

The game injects plenty of surreal, meta-moments into the gameplay, like this wedding-crasher professing his love for the bride just about tied. As the two smooch and the groom cries, the player must still dodge the teardrops and cascading hearts.

Harmful Park pays plenty of homage to Disneyland, as seen here with its spinning tea cup attraction and Main Street Electrical Parade references.

Bosses are both bizarre and climactic, featuring some of the best 2-D art in the genre.

Along with the usual minions, sometimes larger foes offer their own attacks and blows. Watch out for Gulliver's titanic forearm.

Each of the four weapons has a unique special attack. The jelly bean gun, for example, can encase the player within a gelatinous shield, offering temporary invulnerability.

Completed stages come followed by cutscenes that vaguely carry the story. Some are pretty funny. (Thanks to V.E.D. videogame endings database for the video/screenshots.)

The game rewards players for exceptional playing. Might there be a special screen for no-death successes?

The opening scene sees the girls' mother literally dropping them--and their entire bedroom, apparently--into her lab below. There, the sky bikes await their first lift-off.

Along with the main game, Harmful Park contains three mini-games: Block Ball (top), Sky Circuit (middle), Tank Battle (bottom).