Panza Kick Boxing
Super Obsessive Game #10
Type of game
A gallery of hilarious faces and a simulation of gorgeous lighting in pixel art. Nah, that's not it?
Date de sortie sur nos machines
December 1990, according to a source I consider reliable—namely, “random internet site No. 5.”
Developer
Futura, which created fewer than ten games in less than ten years before it disappeared. Well then?
Publisher
Loriciels, with over 130 games published in less than ten years before it collapsed. Wow.
Available on: absolutely nothing newer than 1994. Stick to the ’90s, folks. I can’t say this enough.
This little Atari ST floppy disk was one of the lucky few that Randall Geyser and I would play over and over again during the days we spent at his house. Not as much as Bubble Bobble or International Karate+, but more than Black Lamp or Space Harrier. Too bad about those last two, by the way—they deserved better. Aside from Rocky on the Master System—because I didn’t really have a choice—I’ve never had the slightest interest in boxing games. Okay, kickboxing isn’t exactly English boxing. But the guys are running around in red or blue shorts, and they’re hitting each other with gloves, so… and then there’s the hot chick walking by with the sign to announce the rounds. And the ring with ropes, and the crowd. It’s the same thing, really. Panza Kick Boxing wasn’t much of an exception. Why “Panza,” anyway? Named after the nine-time world champion in the sport at the time—André Panza, of course! I didn’t know who he was at six years old, and I still don’t know today. He’s French, though—and one who crushed the competition like no one else. That doesn’t happen very often, so, uh, paologies to him that I didn’t catch on during his remarkable career. Whenever Randall wanted to start the game, I’d always sigh a little while eyeing Rick Dangerous 2 or Rampage before agreeing. It was his computer, after all—he could play whatever he wanted.
Laughing my André off
Didn't he also decide what we did when he came over to my place? Hey, maybe—call me a big wimp, and I couldn't really argue. Given my limited interest in this rough simulation of a fight, I never got very far. I actually preferred watching Randall play. And after two minutes, I wasn’t grumbling at all, because Panza-thing had a lot more to offer my twisted mind than I’d thought.
The Light at the End of the Ring
As I recall, you could create your own fighter, though you really only got to choose the name. At that age, I’m pretty sure we called him “Dickass,” or maybe “Bilbo” because we’d just read the book, or “Vegetathebest,” because we… well, Dragon Ball. Or “Vegetadickass,” come to think of it. And then, we’d just have a laugh, you know. Just like in a classic fighting game, we’d chain together battles against opponents who got harder and harder to beat. I remember a certain Bulldo Man—the second-to-last or third-to-last boss. If we beat him, we considered our mission accomplished; everything else was just a bonus. I barely remember the training sessions, which let you start fights with better stats; we probably skipped them or messed them up miserably. I do remember the graphics being absolutely stunning, though, with super-smooth animations. The movement was a bit like in Prince of Persia, but more refined and detailed.
But there was something else that fascinated me more than anything else. The lights. Yes, the lights. The lighting above the ring—a row of four spotlights above each fighter. They represented their health bars, dimming a little more after each hit they took. There's something about the choice of colors, the gradient of the light… I don't know. I’ve just never seen more beautiful pixel-art lights in my life. The art direction in general always struck me as incredibly inspired. And yes, I’m definitely talking about a kickboxing game. It embodied the style I loved so much on the Atari ST, even though I didn’t fully understand it until twenty-five years later. It reminds me of the Master System and Alex Kidd in Shinobi World or Asterix, but adapted for old computers. Pixels that seem insignificant at first glance, but that carry an insanely nostalgic energy.
Even the guy in the cap who looks like he’s bored during the match—I could give him a hug, he reminds me so much of the good old days. This game offers over fifty ways to beat up your opponent, with the option to assign eight moves before each match. It’s a stripped-down version of customization, but customization nonetheless. We didn’t spend a ton of time on that either, and unsurprisingly, we never managed to beat the ultimate champion. Since we kept skipping steps, that was bound to happen… but even if we’d gone all out, I doubt we’d have managed to even make a dent in André Panza. The guy was just super tough to beat. It’s not for nothing that the game was named after him. Plus, it was consistent with reality, where he was crushing everyone too. Man, why wasn’t anyone talking about him on TV? It would’ve been a nice change from hearing about Henri Leconte’s or Jean Alesi’s losses—no disrespect meant.
Intro Kick Boxing
As for the music? Nothing to sink your teeth into other than a short intro—which is a shame, even though we’re used to that on the Atari ST. It really bugs me; I would have loved to have some music to go with my beloved lights. That said, the track doesn’t sound too bad. It reminds me of Top Gun or a NASCAR game—something American, basically—and possibly with Tom Cruise in it. It has nothing to do with kickboxing, at first glance, nor with France—the home country of the game’s developers and, of course, André Panza. There’s still a certain energy to this track, though, and it might fit right in with the spectacle of a Thai boxing match. I don’t have any memories of this sweet melody—we must have skipped the intro with Randall right away, eager as we were to get our butts kicked. I’m sure I would have loved it, though, no doubt about it. -1 health point for my nostalgia. I suppose I can thank Michel Winogradoff after all—a very active composer in the ’80s and early ’90s. I’ll mention Lode Runner among his works, but Slider too! Well, Skweek, but Slider on the Game Gear! People don’t talk about Slider enough, and I won’t do any better today. Then there are the sound effects, always surprising, never disappointing. The hits sound like a stick hitting a plastic wall when they land, and strangely enough, it works really well. But the one who steals the show is, once again, the referee, who lets out little “weuuh” sounds that are as ridiculous as they are adorable. This ref is unbelievable. He's the real star of the game, right? Why do I feel such a strong urge to cuddle him?
Much more than just lamps
Actually, Panza Whatever had a lot to offer for a little sports sim. You didn’t just choose your athlete’s name—you also picked their mug from several available options. And I’m emphasizing the word “mug”; there’s just no other word for it. And most importantly, you get to choose which move to assign to which button or combination of buttons on the joystick or keyboard! That lets you create different types of fighters depending on your mood. You needed a computer with 1 MB of RAM to unlock this cool feature. I think Randall’s Atari STE definitely met that requirement—or maybe not. I don’t think we’d ever customized our avatar to that extent before. In my opinion, we’d just hit “Play” without giving it a second thought, and maybe that’s why we got our butts kicked. Or maybe we didn’t make good enough use of the training phases—which I’ve since got confirmation they permanently improved our stats for the entire game!
Well, that’s where my obsession with this game comes from—you don’t have to look any further. But you still had to be good at jump rope, the bench press, and the punching bag. The exercises were merciless—no chance to start over if you messed up. And then you had to face André Panza himself, as the game’s final boss, with stats three times lower than his! So Randall and I would play a few rounds in multiplayer, going head-to-head. He’d wipe the floor with me, then we’d go outside, and he’d wipe the floor with me for real this time, showing me—with a little too much enthusiasm—the new judo moves he’d learned during his last class. And I’d go home with three ribs and a shoulder blade in my hands. And yet, I’d come back the following week. It must have been those lights I loved so much—I can’t think of any other possible reason.
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