In a world where people still talk about the iconic legacy of Mario 64, I’m here to tell you something that might ruffle a few nostalgic feathers: Ape Escape might actually be more fun.
I know, I know—Mario 64 changed the game. It defined 3D platforming. But after revisiting Ape Escape, something clicked. The charm, the gadgets, the sneaky little monkeys—it’s just a different kind of charm. And honestly? I had WAY more fun catching hyperactive primates with a time net than I ever did jumping into paintings to chase down Power Stars. Yes, I mean it. And no, I’m not open to changing my mind.
Ape Escape is one of the most criminally underrated 3D platformers of the ’90s—a game that dared to be weird, creative, and mechanically ambitious at a time when most developers were still figuring out how to move a camera. It was Sony’s secret weapon, and it deserved to be remembered as a classic.
So, let’s talk about why this goofy, gadget-filled monkey hunt might just be the greatest 3D platformer you’ve never played.
Story
Ape Escape doesn’t ease you in with a grounded plot or a typical hero’s journey. Nope—it throws you headfirst into full-blown monkey-fueled madness. The story kicks off when a curious lab monkey named Specter puts on a prototype Peak Point Helmet, becomes sentient, and immediately decides to conquer the world. Naturally. Armed with a newfound genius IQ and access to time travel tech, Specter hatches a plan that’s equal parts ridiculous and brilliant: send his monkey army across history to rewrite civilization itself.
Specter isn’t your average cartoon baddie. He’s small, smug, and surprisingly cunning, with just the right amount of sass. Think Mojo Jojo meets Dr. Neo Cortex—with a chimp-sized chip on his shoulder. His goal isn’t just chaos—it’s calculated monkey world domination. And thanks to the helmet, he’s got the tech and troops to back it up. He’s the perfect antagonist for this kind of offbeat adventure: absurd, oddly charismatic, and always one step ahead.
Your job? Track down these rogue primates, capture every last one, and stop Specter before the world becomes a furry dystopia. No pressure, right?
The story spans eras and ecosystems, sending you on a globetrotting quest to round up rogue primates from the prehistoric past to futuristic cityscapes. Each time period brings its own flavor and flair—from lava-filled dino lands to icy mountains to cyber-labs packed with lasers. It’s delightfully over-the-top, like a Saturday morning cartoon with a sci-fi twist. And yet? It works. It’s gloriously bonkers, and part of what makes Ape Escape so charming.
Gameplay & Controls
When Ape Escape dropped in 1999, it made one thing clear from the jump: no DualShock, no monkey-catching. This was the first PlayStation game that outright required Sony’s new dual-analog controller, refusing to even boot without it. While most games treated analog sticks like an optional gimmick, Ape Escape built its entire control scheme around them—bold, risky, and totally ahead of its time.
Instead of mapping movement and camera controls the way most games do today, Ape Escape did something weird—and wonderful. The left stick moved your character, sure, but the right stick? That was your gadget control. Swinging your net, aiming your slingshot, piloting an RC car—it was all done through flicks and twirls of that right analog stick. It gave the game a unique, tactile feel, where catching monkeys wasn’t just a button press—it was a deliberate, physical action.
It’s easy to take analog control for granted in today’s gaming landscape, but back then, this was revolutionary. Ape Escape didn’t just support DualShock—it justified it. It proved that analog sticks weren’t just for smoother movement, but for deeper gameplay possibilities. The control scheme invited experimentation, demanded precision, and opened the door to immersive, gadget-driven platforming. It quietly laid the groundwork for control standards we still see in modern platformers and action games. And yet, most people forget it even happened.
At the heart of Ape Escape’s charm is its ever-expanding arsenal of goofy, futuristic gadgets—each one essential, each one deeply satisfying to use. You’ll start with the basics: the iconic Time Net for catching monkeys, the Monkey Radar to locate them, and the trusty Stun Club to knock them silly. But as you progress, your toolkit grows weirder and wilder: the Sky Flyer lets you hover across wide gaps, the Slingshot gives you ranged options, and the RC Car can reach places you physically can’t. Every gadget has a purpose, and learning how (and when) to use them is key to mastering the hunt.
These gadgets aren’t just gimmicks—they reshape how you approach every level. Need to chase a monkey through tight crawlspaces? Bust out the RC Car. Spot one hiding in a high-up ledge? Time to get that Sky Flyer spinning. The game constantly introduces new mechanics through gadgets, and with each one, the way you think about navigation and capture evolves. It’s the kind of design that rewards experimentation and creativity—and it never feels like the game is holding your hand.
These aren’t your average video game enemies—they’re little chaos gremlins with minds of their own. Some monkeys flee on sight. Others fight back. Some lay traps, snipe from cover, or jump into vehicles. Yes, vehicles. The deeper you get into the game, the more aggressive—and hilarious—the monkeys become. Their behavior is unpredictable, forcing you to observe and adapt. It’s like facing dozens of mini-bosses, each with their own quirks and strategies.
You don’t just run up and swing your net wildly (okay, sometimes you do). Most monkeys require a bit of planning. Do you sneak up and stun them? Lure them into a trap? Zip in from above? Use your gadgets in tandem? Each monkey encounter feels like its own self-contained puzzle, demanding quick thinking and precise execution. And when you finally nab that slippery little menace after three failed attempts and a slapstick chase through lava tunnels—it’s so satisfying.
Unlike the predictable “three hits and done” formula seen in many platformers of the era, Ape Escape’s boss battles require a bit more brainpower. Some demand clever gadget use. Others challenge your reflexes or force you to read tells and improvise mid-fight. Whether it’s dodging explosives from a mecha-monkey or using the Slingshot to expose a weak spot, these battles ask more of you than the average ‘90s boss fight—and that effort pays off in spades.
Ape Escape’s boss fights might not be the main course—but they’re one hell of a spicy side dish. Packed with personality, variety, and a surprising amount of depth, they help elevate the game beyond a simple collectathon into something with real moments of spectacle and payoff.
Level Design
If Ape Escape’s gameplay is the engine, then its level design is the beautifully weird world it lets you explore—and wow, does it deliver.
Ape Escape kicks off with a bang—literally—with levels set in a lush, dino-filled prehistoric jungle. It’s the perfect playground to learn the ropes, but don’t let the early-game charm fool you. Monkeys here are already starting to test your reflexes, darting between dinosaurs and using the terrain to their advantage. It’s equal parts vibrant and dangerous, like if The Flintstones met Jurassic Park—with a monkey problem.
As you progress through time, the environments take a sharp turn into wild, unexpected territory. You’ll infiltrate high-tech underwater labs where lasers and cameras are just as much of a threat as the monkeys inside. Then it’s off to arctic zones where slippery ice physics and limited visibility turn each monkey encounter into a frigid fight for survival. Each biome isn’t just a visual shake-up—it dramatically shifts how you play, from movement to gadget choice to strategy.
Ape Escape’s levels aren’t linear—they’re open-ended arenas full of nooks, crannies, and delightful secrets. You’re not just following a path—you’re exploring every inch of a world that rewards curiosity. Hidden monkeys lurk behind false walls, secret gadgets unlock new areas, and clever platforming challenges keep the pace fresh. There’s always something just out of reach, pushing you to come back with new tools and a sharper eye.
What makes Ape Escape’s level design truly genius is how it changes based on what gadgets you’ve unlocked. That ledge you couldn’t reach earlier? Now it’s a breeze with the Sky Flyer. That suspicious crack in the wall? Try driving the RC Car through it. The game never tells you outright—it trusts you to experiment. This evolving relationship with each environment gives the game incredible replay value and makes every return trip feel fresh, like unlocking a whole new layer of the world.
Music
Ape Escape’s soundtrack doesn’t just set the mood—it defines it. Composed by Soichi Terada (of Legend of the River King and Drum ‘n’ Bass fame), the game’s music is an infectious blend of funky beats, breakcore, jungle, and upbeat electronic grooves that somehow perfectly match the chaos on screen. Every level has its own flavor, from head-bobbing bangers to eerie sci-fi ambience. It’s criminally slept-on and still holds up as one of the freshest soundtracks of the PS1 era.
Ape Escape walks a tonal tightrope between lighthearted cartoon fun and full-blown sci-fi weirdness—and absolutely nails it. The visuals are colorful and expressive, filled with exaggerated animations and goofy character designs that give everything a sense of personality. But behind all the laughs and googly-eyed monkeys is a strange, low-key dystopia where tech has gone rogue and time is under siege. It shouldn’t work—but somehow, the mashup of slapstick and sci-fi ends up feeling totally natural.
If you could bottle up the energy of ‘90s kids’ TV and inject it into a video game, you’d get Ape Escape. It’s loud, bright, chaotic, and just the right amount of unhinged. Everything—from the monkey designs to the mission briefings to the wacky gadgets—feels like it was ripped straight from a forgotten Fox Kids cartoon. It doesn’t just look like the ’90s—it feels like it. Playing it today is like jumping back in time to a weirder, wilder era of gaming where creativity reigned and nothing had to make sense, as long as it was fun.
Replayability
In a lot of platformers, going for full completion is a chore—a checklist of tedious backtracking and pixel-perfect jumps. But in Ape Escape, chasing 100% feels like the game’s true form. Every stage you revisit with new gadgets opens up fresh paths, new monkeys, and hidden goodies you couldn’t reach before. It’s less about padding and more about discovery. You’re not just replaying levels—you’re rediscovering them, one sneaky simian at a time.
Once you’ve got the full arsenal, the real fun begins. Time trials test your skills under pressure, challenging you to blaze through stages with maximum efficiency. There are minigames to unlock, extra modes, and bonus content that rewards your persistence. But really, the crown jewel is just… catching every single monkey. Each one is a puzzle, a chase, a laugh-out-loud moment waiting to happen. The game turns completion into a joyful obsession, not a grind.
When that final monkey’s in the net and the completion screen pops up, it’s pure serotonin. Not because it was hard (though some of them definitely put up a fight), but because every step felt like part of a greater adventure. The kind of journey you want to start all over again the second it ends.
Ape Escape doesn’t just let you replay it—it dares you to. Whether you’re a speedrunner, a gadget geek, or just someone who loves outsmarting mischievous monkeys, the replayability loop is dangerously addictive. You don’t play Ape Escape once. You come back. Again. And again.
Legacy Check: Why Doesn’t Anyone Talk About This Game?
Let’s be honest—Mario 64 is a masterpiece, but it plays things pretty straight. Save the princess. Collect stars. Fight Bowser. Repeat. Ape Escape, on the other hand, throws that entire structure out the window and replaces it with a bonkers monkey-hunting, time-traveling free-for-all. There’s no royal rescue mission here—just you, some high-tech toys, and a growing list of unpredictable, banana-fueled targets. It’s more spontaneous, more ridiculous, and ultimately, more fun.
In the great 3D platformer race of the late ’90s, Ape Escape showed up with wild ideas, dual analog swagger, and a monkey net. But it also showed up late to a party dominated by titans. Mario 64 had already redefined the genre. Crash Bandicoot and Spyro were Sony’s poster boys. Even Banjo-Kazooie was hogging the spotlight across the aisle. Despite its innovation, Ape Escape got boxed out—not for lack of quality, but because the platformer space was loud, crowded, and laser-focused on mascots with mass appeal.
Part of the problem? Sony never truly backed Ape Escape as its flagship platformer. While Nintendo built a kingdom around Mario, and Sega clung to Sonic for dear life, Sony played the field. They had Crash, Spyro, Jak, Ratchet, Sly… and Specter? Ape Escape was too quirky, too weird, too… itself to become the corporate mascot. And in an era when brand loyalty often hinged on who was on the box, that lack of identity support meant Ape Escape slipped through the mainstream cracks.
Here’s the truth: Ape Escape didn’t fail. It just became something different. A game remembered not by the masses, but by the passionate. The kids who got it. The weirdos who loved gadgets, laughed at monkey goggles, and appreciated games that took risks. It never reached Mario’s pedestal—but maybe it wasn’t trying to. Maybe it was always meant to be a cult classic. And maybe—just maybe—that makes it even cooler.
It’s time to stop treating Ape Escape like a footnote in platformer history. It wasn’t just a gimmick. It was a revelation. And it’s long overdue for the credit it deserves.
Final Thoughts
For all its bananas and buffoonery, Ape Escape was a technical and creative trailblazer. It pushed the PS1’s hardware with analog-only controls, experimental level design, and AI that made the monkeys feel mischievously real. It didn’t just want to be another platformer—it wanted to be the reason you bought a DualShock controller. And in doing so, it carved out a legacy as one of the PlayStation’s boldest, brightest gems.
This is one of those rare games that still feels fresh, fun, and wildly inventive decades later. It’s got that nostalgic charm, sure—but it also dares to be different in all the right ways. The gameplay holds up, the level design is brilliant, and those sneaky little monkeys will keep you on your toes from start to finish.
If you’re tired of replaying Mario 64 for the 15th time, give Ape Escape a shot. Whether you’re a die-hard retro gamer or someone just dipping their toes into the golden era of 3D platformers, here’s the deal: don’t sleep on Ape Escape. Emulate it, buy it used, fire up your dusty PS1—whatever it takes. Just play it. It might just change your mind about what the best ’90s platformer really was.
Verdict
Ape Escape
Amazing
