1990-1999 · 34 entries
Sprites gave way to polygons, cartridges to compact discs, and the living room quietly took the arcade's place.
Competition, more than technology, set the tone of the early 1990s. Two Japanese companies with 16-bit consoles fought over American teenagers, and the challenger's local operation did something the industry had never really tried: it treated a console like a soft drink, with a mascot built for attitude, licensed athletes, and advertising that named its competitor and mocked it. Market share genuinely moved, which taught everyone that marketing was not a cost of doing business but a weapon. Console rivalry became a story that general newspapers and evening news programs could cover, and players started to experience their choice of hardware as a form of identity.
Arcades had one more great decade in them, and it belonged to competition between people rather than against the machine. A fighting game with a full roster of characters and hidden command inputs turned cabinets around to face each other, gave operators their best revenue in years, and created an informal tournament culture that would eventually become a professional sport. The same rooms also got the first look at real-time polygons, because the money and the cooling space that hardware demanded existed in a coin-operated cabinet long before they existed in a living room. For a few years yet, the arcade was still where you went to see the future.
The move into three dimensions reshuffled the whole industry. A consumer electronics company with no history in games entered with straightforward polygon hardware, tools that developers could actually work with, and discs that cost very little to press, and it won the generation. A rival's more complicated architecture punished the studios trying to support it. A third company stayed with cartridges, keeping load times short at the cost of storage, and used its launch software to solve the problem nobody had yet cracked: how a person steers a character through space seen from a camera that moves. Analog sticks and lock-on targeting are answers from these years.
On personal computers the decade ran on a different economy entirely. Small teams gave away a first chapter and asked for money by mail for the rest, which funded ambitious work completely outside the retail system. Games shipped with file formats open enough that players rebuilt them, and modification communities became both a hobby and a hiring pipeline. Graphics accelerator cards began an upgrade cycle that has never stopped, and a unified way for games to reach hardware under Windows ended a long dependence on an older operating system. Dial-up and then broadband turned the machine into a social venue, first for deathmatch and then for worlds that charged monthly rent.
Politics arrived in December 1993, when a Senate subcommittee took up violent content and executives from competing companies blamed one another in public. The industry's answer was a ratings board of its own making, adopted quickly by retailers, and self-regulation has held off federal content law ever since. Elsewhere the decade increasingly looked like mainstream media: a trade show of the industry's own, a puzzle game widely credited with putting disc drives in ordinary households, and a British character who turned up on magazine covers with nothing to do with games. Persistent online worlds, storefront logic and organized competition all left the 1990s as working models.
The 16-bit rivalry professionalized game marketing. Comparative advertising, sports licensing, mascot design and carefully engineered attitude all arrived at once, aimed at teenagers with disposable income. It worked well enough to move real market share, and it permanently changed the budgets. From this point on, the campaign around a major release was planned with the same seriousness as the game itself.
Competitive fighting games gave arcades a final profitable era by changing what the room was for. Instead of paying to face a machine, players paid to face each other, which meant longer visits, side bets, regulars and local reputations. When home hardware caught up and online play arrived, the social function moved indoors and most of the rooms closed within a few years.
Computer games developed a distribution culture that owed nothing to retail. A free first episode funded the rest by mail order, and open data formats let players build levels, weapons and entire new games out of someone else's work. Several of the decade's most influential releases began as modifications, and studios learned to hire from the communities forming around their own tools.
Sega's portable console reused the architecture of its home machine to deliver a lit color display at a time when the market leader was monochrome. It sold in the millions and drained batteries at a famous rate.
Nintendo's 16-bit console reached Japanese stores with custom chips for scaling and rotating graphics and a sound system built with help from Sony. Demand overwhelmed the first shipment, and a restyled version arrived in North America the following year.
Capcom's sequel gave players eight fighters with genuinely different move sets and a structure that rewarded study. Arcades rearranged their floors around it, and the community that formed became the foundation of organized competitive play.
Sega's racing game rendered cars and circuits as flat-shaded polygons calculated on the fly, with camera angles players could switch between. It made three-dimensional graphics a paying arcade attraction rather than a laboratory demonstration.
Sega AM2 built a fighting game from polygonal figures with weight, footwork and a ring to be pushed out of. It became the reference point for three-dimensional fighting and a showcase for the coming console generation.
Sega's new console reached Japan with two main processors and hardware exceptionally strong at two-dimensional work but awkward for polygons. Its complexity discouraged outside developers, and a rushed American release made the position worse.
Sony entered the console business after a disc partnership with Nintendo collapsed, bringing straightforward three-dimensional hardware, inexpensive disc manufacturing and tools developers liked. The machine reached North America and Europe the following September.
Game Freak's Pokemon Red and Green reached Japanese stores on February 27, 1996, roughly seven years into the Game Boy's run. Collecting creatures and trading them over a link cable turned an aging handheld into a phenomenon.
Nintendo's 64-bit console reached Japan on June 23, 1996 alongside Super Mario 64. An analog stick and a camera the player could swing solved problems that had defeated earlier attempts at three-dimensional play.
Square released Final Fantasy VII in Japan on January 31, 1997. Spread across three discs, with pre-rendered backgrounds and long cinematic sequences, it became the game that sold the genre to Western audiences.
Nintendo released The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time in Japan on November 21, 1998. A targeting system that locked the camera onto an enemy made close combat in three dimensions readable for the first time.
The Dreamcast reached American stores on September 9, 1999, nearly a year after its Japanese debut, with a dial-up modem included as standard equipment. Well reviewed and briefly successful, it was Sega's final machine.
Nearly every convention a modern player takes for granted was settled in this decade: a movable camera behind a character, an analog stick, a monthly subscription to a shared world, an age rating on the box, and a graphics card you expect to replace every few years. The 1990s also began the long decline of the arcade, because the reason to leave the house had moved indoors. What follows is the record of that transfer.
