"Because we're soilders we must lay down and die. A lot."

To conceive where we are going, we must first appreciate where we have been.

The year is 1987, and juvenile delinquents across the globe are engrossed as their precious allowances get devoured by an epidemic sweeping across the arcades. They swear, they curse, they kick at study cabinets in fits of frustration and rage, but they keep spending their time and money on R-Type.

R-Type was coeval with the popularity of shmups not by mistake.

But it's no longer 1987 and hasn't been for many years. In an age where games have development budgets that would place third-world countries back on their feet and production values that rival anything Hollywood spits out, what place is there for this forgotten patriarch? Newer shooters have protagonists that slide gracefully across the screen, barrel-rolling across pristine landscapes awash with well-presented targets that pale only in comparison to your sleek craft's futuristic and dashing mannerisms. In contrast, R-Type's disturbingly phallic-looking R9 fighter lethargically limps across the screen, chugging slowly towards waves of simplistic antagonists. No salmagundi of bullets will flood your screen like Ikaruga or Chaos Field; projectiles instead float dreamily towards you, almost leisurely. Because of this, many gamers have been lulled into thinking that an easy victory is assured, and they've all met with an untimely demise. You see, kids; R-Type is unapologetic in its maliciousness, unforgiving in its aggression and unrelenting at its very core. If games were made to be beaten, this is one that will only do so kicking and screaming.

Irem refuses to offer easy rides, presenting unwary players with levels that contain the marination of a sadistic mind. The first stage allows you to glide carefree though a few swarms of moth-like adversaries that are easily eradicated with a smattering of blasts from your standard laser, or, should you favour overkill, a varying overcharge of said weapon can be performed by holding down your fire button. Things are easy, all the easier upon the destruction of a rotund hopping target that leaves in its wake a weapon upgrade. Swoop in and collect this little icon, and you'll procure the Force Divide! This handy little helper attaches itself to the front or rear of your R9, unleashing further waves of destruction you won't be able to achieve without it. A few more languorous lackeys will sail haphazardly into certain doom, your newly combined firepower mowing them down effortlessly. Why, you can even fire forth your new-found buddy, having it act as an independent point of fire, offering up two differing funnels of artillery to play with. It can work as a semi-self-dependent weapon; it can soak up any bullets it comes in contact with, and, looked after and upgraded properly, it can wield a staggering amount of stopping power.

You'll lose it barely a minute after gaining it.

The previously open environment you once happily frolicked within quickly bottlenecks into a claustrophobic opening leading into less confined killing grounds. Furnished with floor-to-ceiling artillery and infested with pod-shaped critters that cluster together, you're faced with a challenging obstacle to bypass safely. It's in navigating yourself through the tight gap that your mortality asks questions of your abilities; as the screen scrolls lazily towards the entrance, you become frantic, unleashing a hailstorm of overcharged blasts and launching your Force Divide into the enemies' midsts, all in a desperate attempt to whittle down your aggressors before it's too late. Like all shmups, R-Type can be made simpler by repeated play-throughs where you can memorise the aggressive attitude shown by those who wish to do you harm and cement a solid strategy that will have you sail through threats. But set pieces like this ensure that, despite having a practised eye, you can still get killed at any second. Fail to snipe out that pod lurking right at the lip of the gap; fail to time your rush through the opening correctly and glide into an incoming bullet; fail to appreciate the pure single-mindedness of your foes, and you'll die. No amount of practise can save you from this.

The same trick is used later in the level, but instead of a plethora of smaller crafts, a single alien entity three times the size of your craft glides eerily along on a jetpack, a gargantuan cannon grasped firmly with you in its sights. If you want to continue, you need to destroy him before he can get off a single shot; you don't have room to manoeuvre around his explosive intentions if he fires upon you.

Sandwiched between these two spots is a circular chain of metallic disks that gyrate in a clockwise motion, a single link missing. They can't be destroyed, the only way to progress is to dart through the small gap, hold steady while they orbit around you, and then zip out the other side when the chance presents itself -- no easy task with the chugging lack of speed your R9 fighter possesses. Something else to keep in mind is that the disks will fire at you the second you think the threat is bypassed; the only way to prevent this is to target the off-coloured link and blast it until the once sharply-presented circular obstacles become grey globs of corroded junk. They'll still claim one of your lives should they make contact, but it's one less wave of gunfire to worry about!

Scrape through all the above -- and more -- and the obligatory end-of-level boss will scroll into view. Taking up half your screen and held aloft by the tendril-like power cables that tether him to the wall, the beast is a nightmarish fusion of biology and technology. A serrated whipping tail trails from the rear end of its cocoon-shaped form, one that slashes and strikes out at anything foolish enough to stray near whilst a strobiloid skull glares from behind a gaping Neanderthal jaw, each maw crowned by a solitary but threatening fang. Eyeballs hang from filaments provided by both the plug-in circuit-lines and the living beast, two sitting proudly upon the target's belly, bordering the much fabled 'weak spot', a canine head that snarls at you from behind its many defences.

If you managed to get to this point with your Force Divide intact, then it's simply a matter of launching it past the whiplashing tail and into your desired target. All you need to then do is keep the firepower flowing, and avoid the rings of laser that try to seek you out as well as trying not to come into fatal contact with that pesky tail. If not, then you'll instead have to find some semblance of safety to hide in, timing your attacks carefully to deliver overcharged blast of plasma while avoiding unwanted attentions.

Quite the handful for the first level. Not that the others make it any easier.

The next level will assault you with wave after wave of tiny leeches that swarm towards you while mutated jellyfish float from the bottom of the screen, trying to end your quest early. Pick up enough power-ups, and slogging through these will be made all the easier. The wave gun fires a slew of ring-shaped lasers that plough a path through anything that gets in your way; reflective beams emit from your craft at varying angles, bouncing off boarders and eradicating any targets it happens to touch; missile strikes stream from your rear, seeking out explosive mayhem and making those skies a little more friendly. The appositeness of their application only makes it all the more heartbreaking when they're all taken away from you. To die is easy in R-Type; to survive is the challenge.

Blast off and strike the evil Bydo empire, the game mockingly displays on the start-up screen. Easier said than done! You'll need a lot to see this one through to the end: patience, dedication, split-second reflexes and luck. Shmups were built upon this challenge once upon a time, and it's no coincidence that R-Type remains a phenomenon that revolutionised a genre. The blueprints for greatness remain locked in a game that wants nothing more than to frustrate, to destroy, to see you work towards completion. There's no hand-holding, no cheap shortcuts, no easy rides. There is only a game's sadistic glee in the burning wreckage of a R9's mangled hull and a player's insatiable urge to right this wrong.

A lot of shooters have forgotten this. But we'll always have R-Type to remind us.

Reviewer's Score: 9/10, Originally Posted: 07/24/06