Fantasy World Dizzy (Codemasters, 1988): What could possibly have been bad about the third Dizzy game? Surely it was just a logical and thoroughly excellent progression from the formula of Treasure Island Dizzy, with more lives, better puzzles and various swords-and-sorcery type references? There was even a commendable warning about alcohol abuse in the form of the utterly useless whiskey bottle which did nothing except reverse your controls. But wait, what was the final task Dizzy must perform for Daisy before she will accept him as a suitable companion? That’s right, he had to scrabble around behind bushes looking for enough cash to buy a great big, fancy house. Gender politics never reached such subtle heights again.
Dystopi-o-meter: Nearing boiling point.
Daley Thompson’s Decathlon (Ocean, 1984): A classic joystick wagglefest; perfect for instilling the noble traditions of sport. Except, tragically, the level of competition demanded was possibly just a little bit too high - Daley had three lives, which progressively diminished as your shameful inability to successfully complete events took its deadly toll. Yes, the punishment for failure was nothing less than DEATH for the athlete. Small wonder that many players found the pressure simply too much to bear and turned to dubious under-the-counter muscle enhancers in order to provide the perfect waggle. A legacy of massively overdeveloped upper arms was the terrible result.
Dystopi-o-meter: £9.99 toward a new joystick.
After that mini-trawl through the gallery of Spectrum horrors, there can be little doubt that by now everyone should be scavenging for food in the dilapidated streets of a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It’d probably be raining, too. Take a cursory glance outside, though, and it will quickly be apparent that anarchy has not yet descended upon the UK, mutants are not yet roaming the land and no-one needs to learn how to grow potatoes in irradiated soil just at the moment. It might still be raining, though. Obviously you’ll need to adjust that picture slightly if you live closer to Sellafield than might be considered comfortable, but the basic point remains; dubiously themed games evidently did not destroy the fragile minds of the 8-bit generation. It’s all ok. We’re fine.
If they could find a moment between selling half-truths, health scares and general panic to their inflated circulations, perhaps the gutter press could introspectively ponder which is more likely to have a negative influence on life; contemporary gaming, or daily doses of red-topped nonsense. ... Nah, there’s more chance of a Dizzy fan going on a psychotic tape-deck wielding killing spree.
