5 Games You Played in the '90s That Deserve a Comeback

May 24, 2025

5 Minute Read
Tags: Bushido Blade, Jet Force Gemini, ActRaiser, The Neverhood, Road Rash

There's something about games from the '90s that hits different. You know what I mean. Before everything was live-service and loot boxes, before every game had a cinematic universe roadmap, we had cartridges that took two tries to boot and manuals thick enough to knock out a sibling. But more than that, the games we played back then felt like they mattered—even when they were ridiculous. They were bold, weird, and often surprisingly ahead of their time.

Now, I'm not saying every '90s game needs to rise from the dead. Some should stay buried (looking at you, Bubsy 3D). But some? Some had magic. Not just nostalgia-tinged charm, but ideas and energy that deserve another shot. With indie devs reviving genres left and right, and AAA studios rediscovering what made their classics tick, it's time to bring a few forgotten gems back into the spotlight.

Here are five games from the '90s that deserve a second life—not as soulless reboots, but as proper comebacks.

Bushido Blade (1997): The Deadliest Duel That Time Forgot

Imagine a fighting game where a single well-placed strike could end the match. No health bars, no flashy supers, no timers. Just tension, timing, and steel-on-steel drama. That was Bushido Blade. Released on the original PlayStation by Square (back when they weren't just known for RPGs), it was a one-of-a-kind fighter that felt more like a samurai duel than a traditional arcade brawler.

Every match was a psychological standoff. Do you charge in with a giant naginata and hope for reach, or bait your opponent with a short sword and go for a devastating counter? You could injure limbs, cripple movement, even win by honor if you let a wounded opponent live. It wasn't just cool—it was respectful. It made you play with purpose.

A modern Bushido Blade could thrive today. Picture it with physics-driven clashes, an art style channeling Kurosawa, and online standoffs dripping with tension. For Honor flirted with the concept, but never embraced that "one wrong move" elegance.

Design Detail You Missed

In Bushido Blade, if you attacked an opponent before they were ready, the game literally shamed you by invalidating the win. No victory screen. Just dishonor. In a world obsessed with killstreaks and style meters, that restraint was revolutionary.

Jet Force Gemini (1999): The Space Epic That Was Too Early

Rare had a hell of a run in the '90s—GoldenEye, Banjo-Kazooie, Perfect Dark. But nestled among those hits was a cult classic: Jet Force Gemini. It was clunky, ambitious, weirdly violent for a cartoonish sci-fi shooter, and packed with a scale that felt massive for the time.

You played as three characters—Juno, Vela, and their alien dog Lupus—each with unique skills and planets to explore. You weren't just blasting bugs; you were liberating an entire solar system. It was Starship Troopers meets Saturday morning cartoons, with a deep streak of melancholy baked into its soundtrack and tone.

Yes, the controls were awkward. Yes, the late-game backtracking was brutal. But the bones of something incredible were there. Today's open-world devs could take that premise and run wild: interconnected planetary hubs, weapon crafting, alien cultures. Give it a narrative touch like Mass Effect and co-op like Warframe, and boom—cult classic reborn.

Hall of Underrated Moments

That moment when you first take control of Lupus and realize, wait, my dog has guns on his back?, is pure '90s joy. It's dumb, it's brilliant, and it absolutely deserves to exist again.

ActRaiser (1990): The God Game Nobody Talks About

Before SimCity met Dark Souls on Twitter, there was ActRaiser. Released for the SNES, this oddball hybrid let you play as a divine statue brought to life. Half the time, you were descending from the heavens to smite demons in side-scrolling action stages. The other half, you were overseeing the growth of civilizations from a sky palace—guiding townsfolk, redirecting lightning, and fending off monsters.

It shouldn't have worked. But it did, and it did so with haunting music, a quietly spiritual vibe, and a surprisingly moving sense of purpose. You weren't just beating bosses; you were nurturing people, protecting faith, and shaping life on Earth.

A modern ActRaiser could be something truly special. Imagine the emotional beats of Journey or Spiritfarer, mixed with the city-building hooks of Kingdoms and Castles, all framed by fast-paced 2D action. Give it modern art direction and some Breath of the Wild melancholy, and we're talking indie Game of the Year material.

Then vs. Now

Then: Build temples and hope the villagers thrive.

Now: Dynamic civilizations that grow with your choices, with rogue-lite invasions and procedurally generated maps. The heart stays the same—but the tools evolve.

The Neverhood (1996): The Claymation Masterpiece You Forgot You Loved

If Tim Burton and Monty Python made a point-and-click adventure game, it would look like The Neverhood. This weird, wonderful claymation world felt like a stop-motion fever dream, brought to life on CD-ROM. Every frame was made with real clay. Every joke landed like a cartoon sledgehammer. And its music? Unhinged brilliance.

You played Klaymen, a wide-eyed lump of joy trying to uncover the truth behind his bizarre, looping world. The puzzles were odd (sometimes too odd), but the sense of place was unforgettable. It didn't feel like anything else—not then, not now.

We're in a golden age for indie animation games. Cuphead proved people will wait years for hand-drawn art if the vibe is right. A new Neverhood could be stop-motion or lovingly digitized clay again. Just give us more of that surreal humor, that tactile world, that feeling that anything could happen—and probably will.

Legacy Watch

Did you know The Neverhood helped launch the career of Skullmonkeys and later influenced Armikrog? It's like the weird cousin of Earthworm Jim that grew up to become an avant-garde filmmaker.

Road Rash (1991–1999): The Original Highway to Hell

Let me paint you a picture. It's the late '90s. You're blasting down the highway at 130mph, Sega Genesis controller in hand, chain-whipping a rival biker in the face to thumping grunge rock. That's Road Rash. It was messy, chaotic, rebellious—and utterly unforgettable.

There have been attempts to recapture it (Road Redemption got close), but nothing's truly nailed that perfect mix of arcade racing, attitude, and outright mayhem. Road Rash was Tony Hawk on motorcycles, with a dash of Mad Max and a smirk that never went away.

In a post-Burnout Paradise, post-GTA Online world, we're overdue for an open-world Road Rash with modern graphics, seamless drop-in multiplayer, and the freedom to race, fight, or just cruise. Keep the licensed rock, add dynamic police chases, and let us ride dirty through a world that wants to throw us off the bike.

Honestly, it could be the spiritual successor to Twisted Metal that Sony keeps pretending we don't need.

Let the Past Drive the Future

There's a reason we keep looking backward. It's not just nostalgia. It's a gut feeling that some of those old games had something modern titles are still chasing: clarity, weirdness, heart. They didn't always get it right, but when they did, they really did. And buried in their polygons and pixel sprites are ideas begging to be reborn.

But a comeback isn't just about remaking a game. It's about asking what that game meant—then translating that spirit to now. We don't need HD ports with the soul scrubbed out. We need reimaginings with reverence, curiosity, and guts.

So here's to the unsung legends. The one-hit wonders. The genre experiments that came before their time. With the right team, the right vision, and a bit of '90s stubbornness, they could shine again.

Because if we're going to keep pressing Start on the past, let's make sure the next screen is worth the wait.