Welcome to the Month of Balan! For one week in September, Source Gaming finally digs deep into the history of Balan Wonderworld. Wolfman’s review of the game explores the corporate culture in which it spawned.
Thanks to Wolfman and Hamada for helping with edits.
Some of my friends believe I’m a harsh critic, an assertion with which I’d probably agree. Thing is, I always try to find and champion a video game’s positive qualities; seldom do I buy a poorly-received title just to tear into it. Square Enix’s Balan Wonderworld, despite how this review will read, firmly falls into that former camp. Now, I’m aware of its reputation. Before Balan’s release, a demo hit digital storefronts to an overwhelmingly negative reception. Unfortunately, the finished product fared no better; it was pilloried as one of 2021’s “worst” or “most disappointing” releases. Today, Balan is treated as a joke and a coda in the career of its once-proud director, Yuji Naka, whose hubris over the decades finally caught up to him.
A theater theme powers Balan Wonderworld, informing its aesthetics, power-ups, cutscenes, and Easter eggs. (Image: Square Enix)
Honestly, I’ve had reservations over Balan Wonderworld dating back to its announcement. Arzest, a successor to the late Artoon, was on developing duties, and neither incarnation of the studio has released a game I enjoyed. Plus, Balan invoked a couple of underwhelming crowdfunded games. Yooka-Laylee and Mighty No. 9 were spiritual successors to beloved platformers (Banjo-Kazooie and Mega Man, respectively) and swiftly reached their Kickstarter goals. Some of the key talent behind those classics helmed them, too. Yet they ultimately disappointed fans, especially the latter, whose grandiose failure became a career-defining shame for former Capcom producer Keiji Inafune. Something about Balan was waving red flags from the start.
Regardless, I was cautiously excited. After all, former Sonic Team wunderkinds Naka and Naoto Ohshima were collaborating for the first time since 1998’s Sonic Adventure! The 16-bit Sonic the Hedgehog side scrollers (my favorite of which was Ohshima’s baby), Adventure (flawed though it may be), and NiGHTS into Dreams rest among my all-time favorite games, and Balan was clearly trying to channel the latter. Square Enix backing Balan meant budgetary issues likely wouldn’t arise. A new subsidiary, Balan Company—whose logo, of course, evoked Sonic Team’s—was even overseeing the production. If Balan was successful, maybe we’d get sequels and more original properties that embody that vintage, eccentric Sonic Team style.
Naka’s ventures under Prope never caught on, nor has Ohshima’s under Arzest and Artoon. I was rooting for Balan Wonderworld, hoping it’d be their first post-SEGA hit. (Image: Square Enix)
Balan Wonderworld superficially cribs from NiGHTS. Both flamboyant, titular performers bond with two troubled kids. They’re set in surreal realms that reflect their human visitors and are under siege by nightmarish hellspawns. Both games employ a minimalistic style of storytelling and frequently reprise their main themes. NiGHTS’ home is full of breedable Nightopians, which inspired both the Chao Gardens of Sonic Adventure and, importantly here, Balan’s cherubic Tim chickens. Both heroes duel dark foils. Even NiGHTS: Journey of Dreams, which neither Naka nor Ohshima worked on, seemingly influenced Wonderworld’s hub, the Isle of Tims. And Balan’s skillset, particularly his ability to fly, is lifted from his purple predecessor; he can even perform NiGHTS’ signature Drill Dash.
However, Balan flips NiGHTS’ script in several key areas. The biggest is that it’s a Super Mario-esque 3D platformer, not a 2D, arcade-y score attack affair. And honestly, that’s a tad deflating after the unbridled creativity of Sonic Team’s golden years. Sonic isn’t like Mario, NiGHTS isn’t like Sonic, and Burning Rangers, ChuChu Rocket!, and Samba de Amigo, among others, bear no resemblance to them or each other. Balan reverting to Mario’s example comes across as a small betrayal of that Sonic Team spirit. To be clear, though, this itself isn’t a flaw of the game. If Balan was good, it’d merely be a trivial, personal nitpick.
Elliot and Claris score concurrent campaigns in NiGHTS, while only one of their Balan counterparts, Leo and Emma, appears throughout its single-player campaign. They collaborate in Balan’s co-op mode, though. (Image: Square Enix)
Unfortunately, Balan’s a poor take on Mario‘s power-up system. Unarmed, the plodding children only tank one hit, but if you’re wearing one of Balan’s eighty costumes, you’ll withstand an extra hit at the expense of losing it. You can carry three in total and alternate between them Sonic Heroes-style by using the left and right bumpers. At each checkpoint, you can enter a dressing room and swap out what you’re wearing (if you pick up an outfit while already in possession of three, the right-most one’s automatically stored). Crystals, which require a key to open, contain costumes. Waiting for both to respawn gets tiring, especially if you want to hoard the stronger getups—which, incidentally, are tucked away in specific places. If you want relatively easy access to them, I suggest replaying their corresponding stages and saving at nearby checkpoints.
A big reason this system doesn’t work is because Balan Wonderworld dutifully follows Naka’s one-button principle: the A, B, X, Y buttons and left and right triggers all activate your costume’s ability (if you aren’t wearing one, Leo or Emma simply jump). In fairness, most costumes can jump or feature some form of upward mobility, and a lot of Wonderworld’s terrain is fairly flat, so you can go stretches without needing to jump.
Potentially losing a vital ability or even finding myself at Balan’s mercy (the notorious Box Fox made me slide off a cliff twice) always eats at me. Even without his power-ups, the acrobatic Mario never feels kneecapped. (Image: Square Enix)
Those are small comforts, though. Occasions arise where you’re trapped in some quagmire without an easy means of navigating it. An alcove within Chapter 9 requires jumping atop rotating platforms, but all I had on hand was Happy Blaster, which can hop… but only after finishing a cumbersome explosion attack; it is not reliable for platforming (or fighting, frankly). And really, there’s no reason why costumes couldn’t retain a basic jump in addition to a new move. 3D games are inherently more complex than 2D ones; the Sonic Adventure titles, Billy Hatcher and the Giant Egg, and Rodea the Sky Soldier, all Naka-backed projects, had two actions buttons, one for mobility and the other an attack.
The vast majority of Balan’s abilities aren’t engaging, either. Too many are too one-note; you’ll throw unwieldy fireballs, rotate gears to move junk, slowly push blocks, or shrink yourself to enter tiny doors. Too many costumes, like those latter three, are merely proverbial keys that activate gates or gizmos. There’s a lot of redundancy—three robes offer ground pounds, for one example—suggesting Balan Company had difficulty reaching eighty (the initial goal was 120). Heck, four duds aren’t power-ups at all, but sport-themed minigames. Mandatory challenges that require a costume usually have one nearby, to be fair, but the Balan experience nevertheless entails approaching something, realizing you’re wearing the wrong regalia, and backtracking to get it—possibly all the way to another level. It’s distressingly reminiscent of Donkey Kong 64. Worst of all, many of Balan’s suits cop ideas from elsewhere. Using its Yoshi-esque Flutter Jump, Wario-esque tackle, Dixie Kong-esque glide, or Sonic-esque Homing Attack just makes you wish you were playing their games instead.
There’s a delay when switching costumes, so you can’t combine abilities (though switching grants precious seconds of invincibility, which is abusable). Going through Balan, I kept one on hand for combat, one for mobility, and reserved the final slot for situational, gimmicky getups. (Image: Square Enix)
Structurally, Balan is split into twelve environmentally-diverse chapters, which have two Acts, a boss, and post-game third Act each. Chapters contain a pool of five or so native costumes, with some collectibles requiring ones from elsewhere. Unlike NiGHTS, you don’t explore the protagonists’ subconsciouses, but those of twelve glum strangers. Their stages are populated with apparitions of them and the creatures you masquerade as, both of which fade away as you approach them. The latter are particularly distracting; they’re meant to add flavor and guide you, sure, but they just… dance perennially, and not even in tune with the music. They’re sterile, lifeless animatronics.
Standard stages are linear treks across barren, bland, fairly compact maps that also betray the colorful wonderland undergirding them. When you’re not performing menial tasks, you’ll jump atop structures or floating blocks, stroll along walkways, or solve “puzzles” that wouldn’t stump a second-grader. Surfaces are typically large and, therefore, forgiving. Balan also foregoes the genre’s traditional lives system (hence why losing your costumes is misguidedly how it punishes you); it’s very much meant as an accessible game for kids. A few set pieces mesh awkwardly with the heroes’ clunky movement, however, like Chapter 9’s rotating hallways. Regardless, there is more honest platforming in Balan than Donkey Kong 64. I am grateful for that.
Balan’s camera is uncooperative, often snapping back to its default position as I’m trying to finagle it. Still, I had some fun playing with the Xbox One’s snapshot-taking feature. (Image: Square Enix)
Balan’s third Acts are remixes of the first Acts and employ an unpleasant visual filter. Unfortunately, the game’s issue of backtracking persists if you’re hunting collectibles, some of which are hidden in ludicrous locations (you need an otherwise worthless “lethal” vacuum outfit to suck up three things that are hidden within random structures). Still, these sandboxes are a little more focused on platforming and experimentation, which I welcome. They even kindly lack Balan’s slow, pace-breaking minigames.
The rare times a flicker of life emerges in Balan is when I’m exploring areas off the beaten path using the few power-ups that enhance movement. Plenty of those outlying places even contain goodies, similar to how remote locations in Super Mario Galaxy hide Star Bits. This is a game that wants you to push yourself, which feels better if not always good. One power-up that facilitates this is Frost Fairy, a versatile tool that lets you literally skip over stuff. An unlockable garb in Balan’s likeness is genuinely empowering; it grants ten jumps and a glide, trivializing most levels (though it is both funny and dissatisfying that flying over a platformer’s platforming challenges is the most fun I’ve had with it). This all represents Balan‘s best, and though it still never approaches even lesser Super Mario outings, it teases potential.
Balan suffers from technical hiccups. The frame rate dips frequently, which has caused me to suffer hits, and one time the sound effects cut off before the whole game froze. (Image: Square Enix)
Normal enemies, the feeble Negati, spawn incessantly, pose little threat, and fighting them is usually optional, though ignoring them causes their battle theme to blare indefinitely à la Sonic Unleashed. You can kill them by jumping on them (assuming you’re wearing an outfit that lets you) or attacking (assuming you’re wearing an outfit that has one). A few stages house mini-bosses that fall after three strikes, as do the proper ones, the Nega Bosses. These giants employ souped-up versions of the abilities you use, they have three weak points that correspond to three different costumes, and damaging them is kinetically satisfying, even if none of their attack patterns are particularly tough or memorable. Oh, and each boss—save for Lance, the final one—is a despair-ridden version of the chapter’s focal character. Their introductions play before the boss fight and summarize their backstories. Beating them purifies them, there’s a dance number, and their sense of vigor is renewed.
Select cinematics feature Balan, exemplifying another deviation from NiGHTS: in-game, at least, he mainly monitors his guests from afar. Things strewn throughout Wonderworld bear his image, most notably the gold Balan Statues. New chapters are gated off until you acquire a certain amount, and facing Lance requires at least 110 out of 228. Act 3 stages also have multicolored Balan Statues, 72 in total. Collecting all of them rewards you with extra cinematics; nothing groundbreaking.
Beating a chapter’s boss resets its Acts’ eggs, Drops (more on these later), minigames, and minibosses. This becomes a headache if you’re going for one hundred percent completion, since you can’t simply re-enter a Balan’s Bout… (Image: Square Enix)
Unfortunately, Balan’s most visible role is the bizarre Balan’s Bout quick time event minigame. Basically, he flies around in a series of stock animations (some of which repeat even within the same Bout!), breaks debris or fights Lance, and you occasionally match up two images of him. Depending on your timing, you’ll achieve an “Oops,” “Good,” “Great,” or “Excellent” rating, and achieving an “Excellent” every time rewards you with a Statue. Plus, the better you do, the bigger the Drop multiplier you’ll get.
Nothing about Balan’s Bout is appealing. He says he’s letting you sample his powers, but… you don’t actually play as Balan, so where’s the empowerment? Dressing up as him is more impressive! The QTE’s jazzy strains drudged up memories of an annoying Chips Ahoy! commercial. There’s a jarring absence of continuity; watching Balan crash into a rock only to happily perform a trick seconds later conveys how slapdash these are. Until the finale, this is also the most we see of Balan and Lance, devaluing Wonderworld’s two most important people. Worst of all, Balan’s Bout grows in prominence the farther you get! The first three chapters only have one per Act, the middle ones have two, and final ones have three—and Balan’s Bout gets longer, too, starting at four inputs, then five, and finally six. A Bout lasts about three minutes, but boy does it feel longer. Mercifully, this minigame is optional (even if players will likely go through several to reach the Balan Statue quotas), which is its only positive quality.
Balan’s Bout is painfully drab; he simply soars through desolate voids. Watching the entertainer congratulate himself for breaking boulders lacks all the spectacle of, say, Super Sonic. (Image: Square Enix)
For all Balan Wonderworld wants to be accessible for children, though, it gets uninvitingly cryptic. It has dynamic easy and hard difficulties, a “feature” I discovered accidentally. Triggering the harder mode is technically necessary if you want to truly complete Balan; unique enemies are exclusive to it (some of whom still might not spawn depending on how lucky you are) and finishing an Act in hard mode marks it with a red stamp, not the usual yellow one (clearing Acts in easy mode marks them with blue stamps). This places an undeserved focus on Balan’s substandard combat (beating enemies in quick succession also rewards bonus Drops; you get the sense Naka or Arzest thought Balan’s combat would entice seasoned players) at the expense of accessibility; people should just be able to select a difficulty. That’d be more reasonable than forcing someone to kill ten or so waves of baddies without getting hit to enter hard mode—and, yes, enduring a single attack afterwards demotes you back to normal.
Balan’s plot is told with little dialogue, like how NiGHTS into Dreams has none. Its premise is simple: Lance and the Negati represent negativity, and the chipper Balan hires you to help people regain balance (get it? Balan? Lance? Balance?). Each chapter’s costumes and settings give a little insight into its inhabitant, too. However, the characters’ relationships and full backstories are only told explicitly or at all in a tie-in novel. It even explains that Lance, a complete nonentity in the game, was the original Balan before his unhealthy attachment to his guests corrupted him. Now, the novel isn’t essential. Details can be pieced together without it (Balan has a clock / time motif; each visitor enters Wonderworld at different points in time, and the little girl of Chapter 6 and princess Chapter 9’s subject fell in love with are the same person during different phases of her life). But the context it offers is valuable. Without it, the game’s cast is just too threadbare—and addressing that shouldn’t require spending another ten dollars for supplemental reading.
I should like Balan’s closing act. Our pals help us against Lance (I recently enjoyed A Hat in Time’s take on this cliché), we see his and Balan’s true forms, there are tearful goodbyes, and everyone happily resumes their lives. But the legwork just isn’t there, and nothing in Balan compares to NiGHTS’ comfort zone-shattering Twin Seeds. (Image: Square Enix)
NiGHTS into Dreams’ obtuse nature can alienate people (even if I appreciate its silent storytelling); anecdotally speaking, two of my Sonic-loving friends “didn’t get it.” Journey of Dreams addressed that by excruciatingly explaining every errant detail in its stilted cutscenes, leaving nothing to the imagination. Somewhere within Balan Company’s enterprise lies a decent compromise: the host can talk and explain some stuff, Emma and Leo can sort of act as our guides, and the context from the novel gives the game’s events weight. As Balan Wonderworld stands, though, it’s harder to connect with despite a greater emphasis on narrative.
Most cryptic of all is Balan’s side activity: raising Tims. Okay, so those five chickens that follow you in stages and periodically fetch goodies or fight Negati? They’re called Tims. Those eggs you find in stages? Touch them in the hub and they hatch into more Tims. Those Drops you’re gathering? They’re teardrops that represent one’s memories and are fed to the birds; the novel explains Tims eat people’s sadness and turn it into happiness. There’s a tower you can repair by feeding your pets. You can also breed them, which is necessary if you seek the Balan suit. Read this guide, though; no kid is figuring all of that out on their own, especially not when luck is involved. Still, the Tims are a… harmless diversion, even if raising them is ultimately busy work. The Chao Gardens, for contrast, include a few token minigames, and tending to the blobs was less of a hassle.
Navigating Balan’s menus is a tad disorienting. Over two decades of muscle memory has taught me that pressing B automatically backs you out of one, but it doesn’t here. (Image: Square Enix)
Balan Wonderworld isn’t the worst or most offensive game I’ve ever written about. FlingSmash, one of Artoon’s shames, barely cooperates with you. Sonic the Hedgehog 4: Episode I is a vapid knockoff of the side scrollers it’s nominally a sequel to. WarioWare: Snapped! is twenty minutes of nothing. Dead Rising 4 is rife with glitches, poorly-implemented mechanics, cardboard caricatures, and mean-spirited “jokes” unbefitting of its franchise. Devil May Cry 2’s reputation speaks for itself. And JUJU and Frogger 2, well, aren’t remotely interesting.
But Balan Wonderworld is bad and, considering its pedigree, a crushing disappointment. NiGHTS into Dreams isn’t for everyone, but it’s a respected cult classic because it’s darn good. Sonic Team understood what they wanted to achieve with it and pulled it off! Balan breaking away from its mold is fine, even good—NiGHTS will always exist, and Naka and Ohshima shouldn’t merely ape their previous success. The problem is that Balan is a hodgepodge of shallow mechanics and dull levels that service awkward controls.
A repost of an ancient article notwithstanding, this is the first Square Enix topic I’ve covered for Source Gaming. …Onwards and upwards, right? (Image: Square Enix)
Leaving Balan Wonderworld, my main takeaway is a deep feeling of despondency. People gang up on easy punching bags, but Balan does feel like an earnest attempt to recapture a familiar, fun energy (one that has resonated with others; Balan has a devout following). Balan’s outlandish design—his color scheme, vaguely unnerving grin, Slenderman-esque proportions—is phenomenal; I wish I could actually play as him (the maestro was even the original subject of this article). I also dig the whimsical aesthetic Balan’s going for, and it probably won’t happen, but I hope its cast gets an encore someday. Oh well. The curtain’s closed on Balan, likely marking the end of his and Naka’s careers, and I’m left wondering if anyone will ever successfully tap into that Sonic Team magic…
To close things on a positive note, I’m looking forward to Sonic Superstars, Arzest’s second game for HD consoles. Sonic’s 16-bit platformers mean a lot to me, and it’s exciting seeing Ohshima return to the storied series he helped create. (Image: Square Enix)
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