The summer of 1989 was defined by two things for me: a horrifically awkward growth spurt that made me look like a human question mark, and the Double Dragon cabinet that appeared at Bowl-A-Rama, the run-down bowling alley three blocks from my house. Every morning, I’d gather whatever loose change I could find—checking couch cushions, raiding my dad’s dresser top, occasionally doing actual chores—and bike over with my pockets jingling, ready to throw myself into the pixelated streets for some vigilante justice.
There was something perfect about the beat ’em up formula that grabbed me immediately. Walk right. Punch dudes. Pick up weapons. Punch bigger dudes. Repeat until you save the girl or the city or whatever was supposedly at stake. It was gaming distilled to its purest essence, like mainlining digital adrenaline for as long as your quarters held out.
Double Dragon wasn’t the first beat ’em up—that honor probably goes to 1984’s Kung-Fu Master—but it popularized what would become genre standards: co-op play, weapons you could pick up, and special moves that cleared out crowds at the cost of some health. I spent countless afternoons with my friend Todd battling through those digital streets. “Dude, grab the baseball bat!” “Watch out, Abobo’s gonna do his jump attack!” “Stop hitting me, I’m on your team!” These phrases became our summer soundtrack, punctuated by the mechanical chunk of quarters sliding into the slot.
The beat ’em up cooperative gameplay appeal cannot be overstated. These games created natural bonding experiences, whether with friends or strangers who happened to step up to the cabinet. There was an instant camaraderie that formed when another player joined in. Suddenly you weren’t just fighting alone—you had a partner watching your back, reviving you when you fell, and occasionally (accidentally, of course) punching you in the head when things got chaotic.
My younger brother Dave, who I usually tormented mercilessly as per the sacred older brother code, became my most frequent gaming partner once we got Double Dragon II for the NES. For thirty minutes a day, the sibling rivalry was set aside for a greater purpose: beating the crap out of digital bad guys. Naturally, we’d resume our mutual antagonism the moment we put the controllers down, but for those brief cooperative sessions, we were a well-oiled fighting machine.
The genre expanded rapidly in the late 80s and early 90s, hitting its stride with Capcom’s Final Fight in 1989. This game set a new standard for graphics and gameplay, with larger sprites, more detailed environments, and that ineffable Capcom polish. The character selection was a perfect example of what would become beat ’em up archetypes: Haggar (the strong, slow powerhouse), Cody (the balanced all-rounder), and Guy (the quick but weaker fighter). This trio of options became almost mandatory in the genre, giving players different approaches to the same basic gameplay.
The Final Fight arcade versus SNES port controversy was my first exposure to the concept of censorship in games. When Final Fight came home to the Super Nintendo, it was missing a character (Guy), the two-player mode, and several stages. Most bizarrely, the female enemies (Poison and Roxy) were replaced with male punk characters named Sid and Billy. I remember my friend Eric’s older brother explaining the reason with a certain smug, worldly air: “Nintendo doesn’t want you beating up chicks, even if they’re supposed to be trans.” We nodded sagely, pretending we fully understood the complicated gender politics involved, when in reality we were just disappointed we couldn’t play as Guy.
Sega’s response to Final Fight was the legendary Streets of Rage series, which many (including me) consider the pinnacle of the genre. The Streets of Rage combo system depth was revolutionary for its time. It wasn’t just about mashing the attack button anymore; you could chain moves together, use environmental hazards, and master special attacks that had distinct advantages in different situations. I spent hours practicing the perfect chain of moves with Blaze, my character of choice because of her balance of speed and power (and absolutely not because of her outfit, I insistently told my mom).
The beat ’em up special move risk reward calculation created some of the most tense moments in these games. Most titles gave you some kind of screen-clearing special attack that damaged every enemy in range, but at the cost of some of your own health. Do you use it now and sacrifice some vitality, or try to fight your way out the old-fashioned way? I can still feel the internal debate when surrounded by enemies in Streets of Rage 2, finger hovering over the special button, calculating whether the health loss was worth the breathing room.
While most beat ’em ups stuck to urban settings with street thugs as enemies, Golden Axe’s fantasy setting variation showed how flexible the formula could be. Suddenly we were battling skeletons and riding bizarre creatures instead of punching punks, but the core gameplay loop remained intact. I remember being absolutely blown away by the magic system, where you collected little blue gnomes (don’t ask, it made sense at the time) to power increasingly spectacular spells. My friend Joey and I would argue endlessly about who got to be the dwarf because his spinning axe attack was clearly superior to all other options.
Every veteran beat ’em up player developed their own cheap death prevention strategy. Mine involved always saving one special attack for emergency situations, never picking up food until absolutely necessary, and—most importantly—never, EVER trusting that a boss was actually defeated until the game explicitly told you to move on. I learned this last rule the hard way in Streets of Rage when I relaxed after seemingly defeating the final boss, only to have him spring back to life and end my nearly successful one-credit run. The string of profanity that escaped my thirteen-year-old mouth would have made a sailor blush.
Speaking of food, the beat ’em up food item health humor became one of the genre’s most endearing quirks. Why was there a perfectly good roast chicken sitting in a trash can in Final Fight? How did that apple remain pristine after I smashed the crate containing it with a lead pipe? Why would I eat food I found on the street in the first place? None of these questions mattered when you were one hit from death and spotted a hamburger sitting inexplicably in the middle of an elevator. My brother and I developed an elaborate mythology about a benevolent short-order cook who followed behind the action, strategically placing food items where they’d be most needed.
The differences between beat ’em up versus fighting game mechanics are interesting to consider. While fighting games were about mastering complex inputs and one-on-one duels, beat ’em ups emphasized crowd control, positioning, and endurance. Both genres evolved from the same DNA but specialized in different directions. Fighting games became increasingly technical and competitive, while beat ’em ups doubled down on spectacle and accessibility. I loved both genres but found beat ’em ups more immediately gratifying—there’s something uniquely satisfying about clearing the screen of enemies with a well-timed special move.
The genre’s decline in the mid-90s coincided with the rise of 3D gaming. Titles like Fighting Force tried to translate the beat ’em up formula to three dimensions, but something was lost in the transition. The simple pleasure of moving from left to right, the clear progression through distinct stages, the immediate readability of the action—these elements didn’t always survive the jump to 3D. I remember renting Fighting Force for PlayStation and feeling a distinct sense of disappointment. It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it lacked the punchy satisfaction of its 2D predecessors.
For years, the beat ’em up seemed destined to remain a relic of the 90s, occasionally revisited through compilations or nostalgia pieces. But the beat ’em up modern revival through independent games has been a joy to witness. Titles like Streets of Rage 4 demonstrated that the formula still works when executed with care and understanding of what made the classics great. The first time I played it with Dave, now in our forties with jobs and kids and mortgages, we instantly reverted to our teenage selves, shouting the same warnings and encouragements we had decades earlier.
Castle Crashers, Scott Pilgrim vs. The World, and River City Girls have all proven that the genre isn’t just a nostalgia trip—it’s a timeless format that still has plenty to offer. What’s particularly interesting is how these modern titles have preserved the core appeal while adding contemporary touches like RPG progression systems, more complex combos, and online play. The heart of the experience remains unchanged: walk right, punch dudes, repeat.
I still maintain a small arcade in my basement, anchored by a genuine Final Fight cabinet I rescued from a closing arcade in 2003. It cost me more than my first car and caused a fight with my girlfriend at the time that nearly ended our relationship. “It’s an investment,” I insisted as we struggled to get it down the basement stairs, nearly crushing both our feet multiple times. She’s long gone, but Final Fight remains, still demanding quarters that now go into a jar for future arcade rescues. Some passions never fade, and for me, the simple pleasure of clearing the streets one baddie at a time is eternally satisfying.
