This Week In Retro: Hakaiō: King of Crusher (Patreon)

November 12, 1998: Hail to the king, baby

by Diamond Feit

"Are you tired of being nice? Don't you just want to go ape shitt" [sic]

When an anonymous user posted this (rhetorical?) question to Yahoo Answers in 2018, it quickly spread across the internet on its way to becoming a full-fledged meme. By the time a Redditor added the text to an image of Princesses Daisy and Peach from Super Smash Bros, the transformation was complete: People are tired of being nice, and they took this message as a call to arms.

I believe impulses to reject social norms and rebel will always resonate with video game fans precisely because so many of us use games as an escape from the humdrum of everyday life. As children, games offer us a break from school and our omnipresent family; as adults, games liberate us—however briefly—from our jobs. Even if you enjoy whatever it is you do as a profession, I'd wager at least a portion of your mental self eagerly wishes to leave said vocation and never return. Lord knows I love contributing to Retronauts but if I didn't need this paycheck I'd certainly spend more time playing video games than writing about them.

There is no shortage of interactive experiences that arm players with superpowers or heavy artillery and then set them loose in a world made of cardboard; certainly at least part of the lasting popularity of the Grand Theft Auto series is its massive cityscapes ripe for the pillaging. Yet 25 years ago, one game specifically centered upon, and perhaps critiqued, players' passion for wanton destruction. That game, known as Hakaiō: King of Crusher, would never see a release outside Japan but it would develop a legendary reputation around the world for its perceived low quality.

Hakaiō, literally "destruction king," tells players everything they need to know right in the title. The game's box art includes a few additional words in large block text: Sararīman, kowashimakuri, which I'd localize as "Office worker wreaks havoc" or "White collar mayhem." Either way, the premise of Hakaiō is simplicity itself; lay waste to everything you see.

A shockingly ordinary Tokyo resident serves as our leading man on this journey, a guy named Kuzō SHIBA, or more precisely SHIBA Kuzō. When written in the traditional family name-given name order, the pun behind this moniker is much clearer: Shibaku means "to hit" or "to strike," and saying shibakuzo equates to "I'll beat your ass." Context is key, though, as the phrase carries no malicious intent when said between friends, especially here in the Osaka region of Japan. My wife says it to our children all the time when they act out of line, but I promise neither of us would actually beat them (even when they leave dirty dishes on the table and drop laundry all over the floor).

Shiba-san lives in a modest apartment with his wife and newborn son, and as the game begins he's having a quiet breakfast while reading the morning paper. All of a sudden, a most peculiar insect nips him on the neck, filling him with rage as his face literally turns red. The insect even speaks to him, urging him to "destroy" and claiming that releasing his anger this way will set him "free." The player thus takes control and must trash Shiba's own home as his wife flees in terror.

Shiba uses a simple array of punches, kicks, and headbutts to lash out against the world. He has a few extra moves like somersaults and crouching but these offer nothing that his regular attacks cannot accomplish. Hakaiō is not a fighting game nor a platformer; there are no combos to learn or opponents to outwit. Everything Shiba needs to break sits right out in the open, waiting for his fist or foot to render it asunder.

Two on-screen meters define the action of Hakaiō. First, a small red gauge measures the amount of destruction Shiba delivers; only once it reaches maximum capacity can he exit a stage. Beneath that, a yellow "dopamine" gauge decreases gradually during play, a de facto time limit since the game ends should this meter expire. However, with each and every item Shiba smashes, both gauges increase. The only way to keep playing Hakaiō is to wreck as much as possible as quickly as possible before Shiba collapses.

Driven by his newfound passion for violence and egged on by the talking bug in between each stage, Shiba proceeds to berserk his way across Tokyo. After knocking down his front door, he goes straight to the office where his supervisor dresses him down for showing up in his pajamas. What follows is a fantasy that I think every employee has felt at least once: Shiba ravages his entire workplace, from the computers to the tables to the comfy sofa in his boss' office.

This pattern of Shiba arriving in a new location only to tear it apart before moving on is the core experience of Hakaiō and while it does not change, it does take a few twists along the way. Beginning in Stage 3, Shiba loses part of his humanity and transforms into a beast, one who still walks upright and swings his limbs but whose features and snarling maw broadcast his intentions from a mile away. The farther players make their way into Hakaiō, the further Shiba departs from his humble everyman status, gradually becoming more dinosaur-like in posture and size.

By the game's denouement, Shiba has graduated to full kaiju status, sprouting wings and gaining the power to level entire buildings from the skies. Yet his urges persist and his rampage continues, leaving Japan behind for the greatest city on Earth, New York. By now Shiba spends as much time fending off military forces as he does committing vandalism, eventually bringing him face to face with the only face large enough to rival his own. Yes, Hakaiō climaxes with a showdown between a fire-breathing Shiba and the Statue of Liberty, who tries to reason with him—in French no less!—before taking matters into her own hands in a fight to the death.

Contemplating the facts of Hakaiō: King of Crusher laid out like this, it seems qualified for the titles of both Stupidest Game Ever and Greatest Game Ever. In practice, Japanese PlayStation owners settled on the former, branding Hakaiō with the disparaging label of kusoge, a portmanteau which literally means "crappy game." Watching clips of the action on YouTube and having played it for myself via emulation, I understand their reaction. Remarkably primitive graphics and downright hideous human models in the pre-rendered cinematics make Hakaiō a leading candidate for the PlayStation's ugliest game.

Worse yet, there's barely any game here to play at all. Shiba may change his shape but the player still ends up mashing the same buttons over and over to reach the end. The stages offer no depth nor do any secrets lay in wait, nullifying the need for exploration. Indeed, with Hakaiō's always-be-crushing focus on destruction, taking Shiba off the beaten path all but guarantees a game over. The best strategy—the only strategy really—is attack first, ask questions never.

However, I have to wonder if Hakaiō's lousy legacy doesn't overlook one possibility: What if developers Fab Communications made these choices on purpose? A video game about nothing but destroying everything in your path that's incredibly repetitive and not much fun to play could very well represent a deliberate commentary on violence in the medium. Shiba's rampage is a compulsion forced upon him by an outside force, one he must obey else he face oblivion. Making that an unpleasant experience seems appropriate given how Shiba likely feels about his behavior.

25 years after its launch, Hakaiō: King of Crusher leaves me asking questions that it never answers. Given the game's widespread kusoge status, the internet is packed with blog posts and videos mocking its existence, but I found next to nothing about the people behind its creation. The closing credits identify the development staff in full but few of the names seen there have other releases listed on their resumes. Fab Communications still exists as a company but they seem to have left game development behind decades ago; even if anyone on the payroll today could shed some light on Hakaiō, I don't know that they'd be willing at this point. It's hard enough to land an interview with a video game developer to talk about their successes, so how many of them would dare to revisit a failure?

No modern re-releases or ports of Hakaiō exist, but if this essay has left you curious about how it feels to actually play the game, you're in luck. Modders have developed English and Spanish translation patches which add subtitles to all the dialogue. Even if you've never set foot in Tokyo or New York, wouldn't you enjoy razing them to the ground?

Don't you just want to go ape shitt

Diamond Feit lives in Osaka, Japan but is forever online, sharing idle thoughts about video games, films, and dessert.