I was digging through my game collection last night, trying to find something to show my nephew who's visiting for the week, when I spotted that familiar yellow cartridge. Donkey Kong 64. Just holding it brought back this wave of Saturday mornings and the particular excitement of unwrapping what was essentially Rare's love letter to everything they'd learned about making platformers.
You know what's funny? Everyone remembers the Nintendo 64 as this revolutionary machine—and it was—but Donkey Kong 64 felt like Rare showing off in the best possible way. Like they'd been given the keys to a sports car and decided to take it through every trick they could think of. The collect-a-thon genre was already a thing by then, sure, but this was collect-a-thon turned up to eleven and then some.
I still remember the first time I switched between characters. Kong barrel, quick animation, suddenly you're Diddy instead of Donkey. Different abilities, different weapons, different everything. It sounds simple now, but back then? Mind blown. Properly blown. Each Kong felt genuinely different to control—Lanky's awkward stretch, Tiny's helicopter hair, Chunky's… well, Chunky being an absolute unit. The character switching wasn't just a gimmick; it was the entire game's DNA.
My mate Dave used to come round every weekend, and we'd take turns with different Kongs. He always grabbed Diddy first because of those rocket barrels—loved launching himself across the levels like some sort of demented chimp missile. I was more of a Donkey Kong traditionalist, but honestly, you couldn't play the whole game with just one character. The design forced you to think differently, approach problems from multiple angles. Genius, really.
The Expansion Pak requirement was controversial at the time, wasn't it? Extra thirty quid or whatever it was, just to play one game. But looking back, you could see why they needed it. The levels were massive. Not just big—properly sprawling. Jungle Japes alone felt like it went on forever, with all those hidden areas and branching paths. DK Isles as a hub world? Still impressive today. You'd spend ages just wandering around, finding new doors that opened up as you collected more Golden Bananas.
Speaking of Golden Bananas—christ, the collecting. Five different colored bananas for each Kong, plus Golden Bananas, plus Banana Medals, plus those Nintendo Coins, plus Blueprint pieces, plus Battle Crowns from the multiplayer arenas. It was completely bonkers. Absolutely mad. And I loved every minute of it.
The thing is, other games had done collecting before, but rarely with such purpose. Each banana felt like it mattered, not just padding. Well, mostly. The colored bananas could get a bit tedious—I'll admit that. But the Golden Bananas? Each one was like solving a little puzzle or mastering a specific challenge. Some required platforming precision, others needed you to figure out which Kong could access which area. The blueprint challenges were proper tricky, too.
Rare's attention to detail was ridiculous. Every level had its own personality, its own musical theme that got remixed for different areas. Grant Kirkhope's soundtrack was—and still is—absolutely banging. That main theme still gets stuck in my head randomly. The Angry Aztec music, the spooky Creepy Castle vibes, even the chaotic nonsense of Frantic Factory. Each tune told you exactly where you were and what kind of trouble you were probably about to get into.
The boss battles were another highlight. King Krusha K. Rool at the end was this multi-phase marathon that required different Kongs for different rounds. Boxing match with Chunky, shootout with Lanky, the whole thing was like a greatest hits compilation of everything you'd learned. Proper epic stuff.
Multiplayer was where things got really interesting, though. The single-player was brilliant, don't get me wrong, but those multiplayer mini-games? Pure chaos. Monkey Smash was like a simplified fighting game, but Battle Arena was where friendships went to die. Four players, various weapons, absolute mayhem. The tag-team element added this extra layer of strategy that kept things fresh.
I've been playing through it again recently—well, trying to. The collect-a-thon format hits different when you're older, doesn't it? Back then, having 200-plus items to collect felt like incredible value. Now? Sometimes it feels a bit overwhelming. But that's probably more about my attention span than the game itself. When I focus on just one Kong at a time, it becomes manageable again. Almost meditative, in a weird way.
The camera was always a bit wonky, let's be honest. Even by N64 standards, it could be properly frustrating in tight spaces. But the level design was so clever that you usually had multiple routes to any given objective. If one path was giving you grief with the camera, there was probably another way round.
What strikes me most about replaying it is how ambitious it was. Rare was basically saying, "Right, we've made Donkey Kong Country, we've made Banjo-Kazooie, now let's combine everything we've learned and see how far we can push it." The result was this sprawling, slightly mad adventure that somehow held together despite being absolutely stuffed with things to do.
The transformation sequences were another lovely touch. Tiny turning into a mouse, Lanky becoming a rabbit, Chunky morphing into a gorilla the size of a small building. Each transformation opened up new possibilities, new secrets to find. It was like having bonus characters within your existing characters.
Looking back, Donkey Kong 64 represents everything great about that era of platforming. Big ideas, bold execution, and enough content to keep you busy for months. Sure, maybe it was a bit too much collecting for some people, but for those of us who got properly hooked? Pure magic. The kind of game that makes you believe cartridges can hold entire worlds, even when they're groaning under the weight of their own ambition.
That yellow cartridge still works perfectly, by the way. Nintendo build quality, innit?
