Micro Machines: World Series

Micro Machines: World Series is an action racing game that revives the classic toy-car franchise, featuring fast-paced top-down races through imaginative everyday environments like breakfast tables and gardens. Players choose from miniature vehicles across diverse tracks, supporting competitive multiplayer via online, LAN, or split-screen for up to 12 players. The game maintains the series’ nostalgic 2D scrolling perspective with licensed vehicles and accessible gameplay suitable for all ages.

Micro Machines: World Series: Review

Introduction

The return of a cherished franchise is always a moment of anticipation, yet rarely does it meet the weight of nostalgia. Micro Machines World Series (2017), developed by Codemasters and published by the same studio, promised to resurrect the manic top-down racing chaos of the 1990s. For those who grew up steering miniature cars across breakfast tables or pool tables, the announcement was a beacon. Yet, this revival, arriving a decade after the last mainline entry (Micro Machines V4), ultimately exemplifies the perils of modernizing a beloved formula without honoring its core. The game attempts to blend classic arcade racing with contemporary multiplayer trends like hero shooters and progression systems, but it falters under its own ambition. This review posits that Micro Machines World Series represents a squandered opportunity—a technically competent but structurally hollow experience that prioritizes fleeting online trends over the timeless local multiplayer joy that defined the series.

Development History & Context

Codemasters, renowned for its racing prowess (e.g., DiRT, F1), spearheaded this revival, leveraging the Micro Machines license from Hasbro. The project emerged from the surprising success of a 2016 mobile free-to-play title, which demonstrated lingering fan interest. However, as designer Gavin Cooper clarified in interviews, the console version was a “brand new game” built from the ground up, sharing little with its mobile counterpart. Codemasters deployed the Unity engine—a departure from its proprietary EGO technology—to facilitate multi-platform support (Windows, PlayStation 4, Xbox One, Linux, macOS), with console ports handled by Just Add Water.

The vision was ambitious: bridge the franchise’s chaotic, household-based racing with modern multiplayer expectations. Cooper emphasized the “smackdown, social experience” as the series’ essence, aiming to replicate the joy of local couch multiplayer while adding 12-player online races and new battle modes. Yet, this ambition collided with the 2017 gaming landscape, where competitive online multiplayer and esports (e.g., Overwatch) dominated. The studio attempted to inject this sensibility through hero-inspired vehicles, unique abilities, and loot-box progression—elements starkly at odds with Micro Machines‘ traditionally accessible, weapon-optional gameplay. Technically, Unity enabled vibrant visuals but struggled with performance hiccups and inconsistent netcode, issues exacerbated by the game’s heavy online focus. The result felt like a product caught between eras: a $30 budget title priced beyond its content, yet saddled with AAA ambitions.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

Narrative is a misnomer for Micro Machines World Series. The game offers no overarching plot, character arcs, or dialogue beyond repetitive quips. Instead, its “story” is thematic, rooted in nostalgia and the whimsical scale of its universe. The core theme is miniaturized mayhem, where everyday objects become colossal obstacles, transforming mundane spaces into arenas for absurd competition. This directly channels the original series’ charm, evoking the childhood thrill of racing toy cars across a kitchen floor or a billiard table.

The character roster—12 vehicles with distinct personas—serves as a vehicle (literally) for Hasbro’s licensed properties. Each driver is a walking archetype: the military tank driver (G.I. Joe‘s Mobat), the monster truck enthusiast (Hank N. Stein), or the whimsical hovercraft pilot. In Battle mode, these personas manifest through unique abilities, such as the Mobat’s airstrike or the Stein’s “earthquake” slam. This leans into the hero shooter trend, albeit superficially. The themes of teamwork and strategic synergy in objective-based modes (e.g., Capture the Flag) echo Overwatch, yet they feel tacked onto Micro Machines’ inherently anarchic DNA. Ultimately, the narrative is an exercise in brand synergy—NERF weapons, Hungry Hippos boards, and Ouija table arenas are less storytelling devices than licensed set pieces. The game’s silence on deeper themes (e.g., competition vs. camaraderie) leaves it as a hollow vessel for nostalgia rather than a meaningful evolution of the series’ ethos.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

The gameplay splits into three core modes, each with distinct mechanics and systemic flaws.

Racing is the series’ foundation: top-down, physics-chaotic sprints across 10 household-themed tracks. Controls are intentionally floaty, rewarding momentum and track memorization over precision. Weapons like the Nerf blaster or hammer add aggression but feel underpowered, often failing to disrupt races meaningfully. Elimination mode—where laggard vehicles are pushed off-screen—retains the series’ signature tension but is hampered by unforgiving AI that exploits track shortcuts, punishing new players.

Battle Mode introduces vehicular combat in 15 arenas, with modes like King of the Hill and Bomb Delivery. Here, the game’s systems shine brightest. Each vehicle has unique weapons (e.g., flamethrowers, missile launchers) and “Ultimate” abilities (e.g., tornado summons, airstrikes), fostering strategic depth. However, these mechanics are isolated to Battle mode; racing strips this complexity away, creating a jarring disconnect. Progression is another casualty: leveling up unlocks cosmetic loot boxes (skins, voice lines), offering no gameplay advantages and failing to incentivize long-term play. The UI exacerbates this, forcing players to exit to the main menu after every match, breaking immersion.

Multiplayer is the game’s centerpiece but its Achilles’ heel. Online races support 12 players, yet matches suffer from lag, desync, and inconsistent matchmaking. Local multiplayer is neutered: Skirmish mode allows only solo races or four-player Elimination, while Battle Mode restricts local play to watered-down “Free For All” arenas. The lack of split-screen for non-Elimination races is a baffling regression from the series’ couch-co-op legacy. Ultimately, the systems—despite flashes of brilliance in Battle Mode—are undermined by a lack of cohesion and content.

World-Building, Art & Sound

The world-building leverages the series’ signature miniature perspective, transforming domestic spaces into expansive battlegrounds. Tracks like the “Breakfast Table” (dodging cereal and toast) or “Pool Table” (navigating pockets as shortcuts) are masterclasses in environmental storytelling. The inclusion of Hasbro-licensed arenas—such as a Hungry Hippos board where cars are “devoured” or an Ouija board with moving planchettes—adds whimsical variety. These settings aren’t just backdrops; they are interactive playgrounds with dynamic elements (e.g., teleporters, giant fans, oil slicks) that ensure no two races feel identical.

The art direction marries vibrant cartoon aesthetics with detailed textures, creating a visually appealing world. Depth-of-field effects emphasize the scale disparity between vehicles and objects, while environmental destruction (e.g., cars crushing Cheerios) reinforces the chaos. However, the visual style is inconsistent—some arenas lack the polish of the racing tracks, and character designs feel generic despite their Hasbro ties.

Sound design is functional but unremarkable. Weapons and collisions have satisfying crunches, but the soundtrack is forgettable, looping generic electronica. Voice acting is the weakest element: repetitive, grating lines (“Eat my dust!”) from drivers quickly become annoying. The audio lead, Jethro Dunn, crafted a cohesive auditory package, but it fails to capture the series’ playful spirit. The overall atmosphere is one of nostalgic charm, but the technical execution—particularly the audio—lacks the personality of earlier entries.

Reception & Legacy

Nicro Machines World Series received a mixed reception upon release, with critics praising its core racing but lamenting its structural flaws. Aggregators like Metacritic scored it 58–59/100 across platforms, reflecting this ambivalence. Positive reviews, like Hardcore Gamer’s 4/5, lauded its “rock-solid racing” and nostalgia value. Yet, the consensus leaned negative: PlayStation Lifestyle called it a “hollow shell,” while WCCFtech deemed it a “jack of all trades” that ruined the series’ essence. Key criticisms included the lack of a career mode, sparse content (10 tracks, 12 vehicles), and unreliable online play.

Commercially, the game debuted at #2 in the UK charts but swiftly faded. Its $30 price point was widely seen as unjustified given the minimal content. The legacy has been one of disappointment. The online servers shut down in March 2024, rendering a core component unplayable and cementing the game’s status as a “what if” footnote. In retrospectives, it’s often cited as a franchise killer—TheXboxHub lamented it “destroyed entire franchises,” while Eurogamer noted it sat “in the shadow of its superior predecessor.” Its influence on the industry is negligible, though it serves as a cautionary tale about retrofitting vintage IPs with transient trends (e.g., loot boxes, hero mechanics) at the expense of their soul.

Conclusion

Nicro Machines World Series is a study in missed potential. It captures the tactile joy of top-down racing and the whimsy of miniature chaos, yet its execution is fundamentally at odds with the series’ DNA. The emphasis on online multiplayer and hero-inspired mechanics feels like a commercial compromise, sidelining the local multiplayer camaraderie that made Micro Machines a 90s staple. The art and sound deliver on visual flair but lack the personality to elevate the experience.

In the annals of video game history, this entry stands as a cautionary revival. It embodies the peril of modernizing beloved IPs without honoring their core tenets, resulting in a technically competent but emotionally hollow product. For nostalgics, it offers fleeting echoes of past glories; for newcomers, it’s an underwhelming, overpriced curiosity. The franchise remains dormant, a victim of its own ambitious misstep. Ultimately, Micro Machines World Series is not so much a continuation as a footnote—a reminder that some legends are best left undisturbed.