Snafu

Snafu is a classic arcade action game originally released for the Intellivision in 1981, inspired by Atari’s Surround, where players control constantly moving and growing walls in a top-down arena to trap opponents by encircling them before getting trapped themselves. Crashing into screen borders, another player’s wall, or one’s own trail eliminates a player, with the last one standing winning the round; customizable options include diagonal movement, obstacles, variable speeds, and up to four players including AI, while a unique serpent mode pits two players in a link-biting duel to strip away their rival’s tail segments.

Snafu: Review

Introduction

In the flickering glow of early 1980s television screens, where pixels danced like fireflies in the night, Snafu slithered onto the Intellivision console in 1981, capturing the chaotic essence of competition in a deceptively simple package. Developed by Mattel Electronics during the golden age of arcade-style home gaming, this snake-inspired title wasn’t just another clone of Atari’s Surround—it was a sly evolution, blending territorial warfare with predatory chases in a way that turned living rooms into battlegrounds. As a game journalist and historian who’s spent decades dissecting the DNA of retro titles, I find Snafu to be a microcosm of its era: constrained by hardware yet brimming with clever design that prioritized replayability over spectacle. My thesis is clear: Snafu may lack narrative depth or visual grandeur, but its masterful gameplay variations and innovative use of Intellivision’s tech cement it as a foundational pillar of multiplayer arcade gaming, influencing everything from Tron‘s light cycles to modern mobile snake clones, proving that true innovation often hides in the simplest coils.

Development History & Context

The story of Snafu begins in the bustling labs of Mattel Electronics, the toy giant’s foray into video games that positioned the Intellivision as a sophisticated rival to Atari’s VCS in the late 1970s and early 1980s. Released on October 15, 1981, for the Intellivision—a console boasting superior sound and graphics chips like the General Instrument AY-3-8910 for audio and the STIC (Standard Television Interface Chip) for visuals—Snafu emerged amid a gaming landscape dominated by arcade ports and simple action titles. The industry was in flux: Atari’s Pac-Man fever was brewing, but home consoles like Intellivision emphasized strategic depth over reflex-driven chaos, appealing to a family audience in an era when video games were still proving their legitimacy beyond arcades.

At the helm was Mike Minkoff, a prodigious talent who single-handedly programmed, designed the graphics, and handled sound effects for the Intellivision version. Minkoff’s vision stemmed from two inspirations: the abstract board game Blockade, where players walled off territory, and an unreleased Mattel handheld LED prototype involving serpents devouring tails. Under the working title Blockade+Snakes, the project evolved into a hybrid of territorial conquest and predatory combat. Minkoff cheekily dubbed it Ssssnakes! during development, even splashing the name on early title screens, but marketing overruled him with Snafu—an acronym for the military slang “Situation Normal: All Fucked Up” (often bowdlerized as “Fouled Up”). Minkoff loathed the choice, arguing it had no thematic tie to serpents, but the name stuck, perhaps as a nod to the game’s inevitable tangles of doom.

Technological constraints shaped Snafu‘s creation profoundly. The Intellivision’s 8-bit architecture limited resolution to 160×96 pixels, with only 16 colors available, yet Minkoff pushed boundaries by leveraging the STIC’s rare “colored squares” mode—making Snafu the only Intellivision title to do so. This feature rendered vibrant, multi-hued serpents against a stark playfield, a feat that showcased Mattel’s engineering prowess amid the 1981 crash looming on the horizon (though it wouldn’t fully hit until 1983). The broader context was one of innovation under pressure: Mattel, as both publisher and developer, aimed to differentiate Intellivision with titles like Snafu that supported up to four players (two human, two AI), fostering social play in an era when multiplayer meant hot-seating on limited hardware. Ports followed, including a 1983 version for the ill-fated Mattel Aquarius computer, underscoring Mattel’s brief but ambitious push into personal computing before the video game industry’s near-collapse.

Narrative & Thematic Deep Dive

Snafu is the epitome of abstract arcade design—devoid of protagonists, dialogue, or overarching plot, it thrives on emergent storytelling through gameplay. There are no characters to empathize with; instead, players embody anonymous serpents, glowing lines that writhe across a featureless rectangular arena. This minimalism isn’t a flaw but a deliberate choice, reflecting the era’s focus on pure mechanics over narrative fluff. The “plot,” if one can call it that, unfolds in real-time rounds: serpents spawn, grow relentlessly, and clash until only one survives, a Darwinian tale of survival etched in pixels.

Thematically, Snafu delves into chaos and strategy amid confinement, embodied by its title’s military origins. The SNAFU acronym evokes bureaucratic mayhem and inevitable foul-ups, mirroring the game’s core tension—your serpent’s unstoppable growth turns the playfield into a noose, where hesitation spells doom. In Trap mode, themes of territorial dominance prevail: players carve out space like feudal lords fencing off land, only for the walls to close in, symbolizing how ambition breeds entrapment. Bite mode shifts to predation and vulnerability, with serpents hunting tails in a cycle of consumption and regeneration, evoking natural food chains or the Ouroboros myth of self-devouring renewal. Collisions aren’t just failures; they’re poetic ironies—crashing into your own trail represents hubris, while boxing in an opponent captures the thrill of outmaneuvering fate.

Without voice acting or cutscenes (impossible on Intellivision anyway), “dialogue” emerges through the game’s rhythm: the serpents’ silent advance communicates intent, forcing players to “read” trajectories like a tense standoff. Underlying themes extend to the human element—multiplayer sessions breed trash-talk and alliances, turning abstract lines into proxies for rivalry or cooperation. In an era when games were escapist experiments, Snafu subtly critiques overextension: grow too bold, and you’re snafued. This lack of overt narrative invites endless interpretation, making each match a micro-drama of wits, where the true story is the player’s improvised saga of triumph or tangle.

Gameplay Mechanics & Systems

At its heart, Snafu is a symphony of simplicity elevated by depth, offering 16 variations across two core modes: Trap (12 options) and Bite (4 options). Players select speed (four levels, from leisurely to frantic), variation, and rounds (up to 99), ensuring longevity. Controls are intuitive—the Intellivision’s 12-button disc and action keys guide serpents in cardinal (up/down/left/right) or diagonal directions, with momentum creating a constant forward creep that demands anticipation over reaction.

Trap mode echoes Tron‘s light cycles or Surround, but with Intellivision flair: serpents leave growing trails, and the goal is to outlast foes by forcing collisions with borders, trails (yours or others), or obstacles. Up to four serpents (two human-controlled, two AI) vie for space; eliminated trails can vanish instantly or linger as hazards, adding strategic layers. Variations introduce chaos: some ban diagonals for gridlock tension, others spawn random obstacles or enable “follow-the-leader” chases. The core loop—maneuver, encircle, survive—is addictive, rewarding spatial awareness; a single misstep shrinks the arena exponentially, turning open fields into minefields. AI opponents scale competently, from predictable to evasive, making solo play viable though multiplayer shines brightest, with split-screen views preventing visual overload.

Bite mode flips the script to two-player duels: serpents start at 10 links, growing to double length over time. Bite an opponent’s tail end to sever a link (only the rearmost is vulnerable), but guard your own—doubling back costs a segment, and walls/links aren’t lethal. Regeneration adds forgiveness, but the loop emphasizes pursuit: stalk, feint, strike. Variations tweak movement (e.g., head-on collisions or tail-tag pursuits), fostering cat-and-mouse mind games. The UI is spartan yet effective—score tallies, round counters, and serpent lengths display crisply, with no clutter to distract from the action.

Innovations abound: diagonal allowances enable “weaving” escapes, a rarity in 1981 snake games, while the four-player support (rare for consoles) amplifies social deduction. Flaws? AI can feel scripted in higher speeds, and the lack of save states (era-appropriate) frustrates modern playthroughs. Yet, the systems interlock seamlessly—growth mechanics tie progression to risk, creating emergent depth from basic inputs. Snafu proves that tight loops trump complexity; one match hooks you, a session devours hours.

World-Building, Art & Sound

Snafu‘s “world” is a void of potential—a blank, rectangular playfield bounded by invisible (or visible) walls, evoking an infinite arena crushed into finite pixels. No lore-rich environments here; the setting is purely functional, a canvas for serpentine warfare that amplifies isolation and intensity. Atmosphere builds through emergence: as trails proliferate, the screen transforms from empty expanse to labyrinthine trap, mirroring themes of encroaching chaos. Obstacles in certain variations—static blocks or roaming hazards—dot the field like ancient ruins, subtly enriching the tactical landscape without overwhelming the abstraction.

Visually, Minkoff’s art direction maximizes Intellivision’s limits with elegance. Serpents render as vibrant, colored squares (red, blue, green, yellow via STIC’s unique mode), trailing fluidly in fixed top-down perspective. No flip-screen needed—the playfield fits neatly, with clean lines ensuring readability even in four-player frenzy. Graphics are minimalist: no animations beyond growth and sparks on collision, but this austerity heightens focus, like a Zen garden of doom. The title screen’s bold Ssssnakes! easter egg (overwritten in final builds) hints at playfulness amid the starkness.

Sound design elevates Snafu to auditory standout. Russell Lieblich’s music—a pulsing, new-wave-esque synth track—is a revelation for 1981 consoles, far beyond Intellivision’s typical bleeps. It starts methodical, building urgency as players dwindle (quickening tempo for two-snake duels), syncing with the chaos like a heartbeat in peril. Collision effects—sharp zaps and crashes—punctuate defeats viscerally, while growth hums add tactile feedback. These elements forge immersion: visuals constrain, but sound expands, turning abstract lines into living threats. Together, they craft an experience that’s tense yet rhythmic, proving sensory synergy can transcend hardware woes.

Reception & Legacy

Upon launch, Snafu garnered solid acclaim in a console war-torn landscape. Critics averaged 64% on MobyGames (based on four reviews), with Tilt (1983) praising its “entraining new-wave music” as a delight for all ages (4/6), and Retrogaming History (2008 retrospective) calling it a timeless blend of ancient simplicity and modern familiarity (7/10). The Video Game Critic (2002) noted its Surround roots but lauded variations like diagonals and obstacles (50/100, tempered by single-player gripes), while Computer and Video Games (1982) hailed its “sheer fast strategy” as proof simple ideas endure (unscored). Players rated it 3.8/5 (11 votes), appreciating multiplayer hooks but decrying repetition. Commercially, it bolstered Intellivision’s library, selling steadily before Mattel’s 1983 exit from gaming amid the crash.

Over decades, Snafu‘s reputation evolved into cult reverence. Re-releases in Intellivision Lives! (1998/2003), Greatest Hits compilations, and Microsoft’s Game Room (2010 for Xbox 360/Windows) introduced it to new generations, earning nods in Angry Video Game Nerd episodes for its quirky charm. Legacy-wise, it’s a snake genre cornerstone: predating and inspiring Tron (1982)’s light cycles (with which it shares “light cycle” group tags on MobyGames) and the ubiquitous Nokia Snake (1997). Its four-player traps influenced multiplayer maze games like Qix variants and modern titles such as N++ or Archimedean Dynasty‘s tactical pursuits. Industry impact? It highlighted console multiplayer’s potential, paving ways for social gaming, and demonstrated tech-push innovation (that STIC mode). Today, emulated on PC and browser (e.g., Internet Archive’s Aquarius port), Snafu endures as a testament to evergreen design—simple, strategic, and endlessly replayable.

Conclusion

Snafu coils through video game history as a understated masterpiece: born from Mattel’s ambitious yet doomed foray into gaming, it distills competition into pure, serpentine elegance. From Minkoff’s visionary coding to Lieblich’s sonic flair, its mechanics—Trap’s territorial traps and Bite’s predatory nips—offer depth that belies 1981’s constraints, while themes of chaos resonate across eras. Though narrative and visuals are bare-bones, the world’s emergent atmosphere and addictive loops compensate, fostering rivalries that outlast pixels. Reception solidified its niche appeal, and its legacy slithers on in every mobile snake clone and light-cycle homage. Verdict: Essential retro fare, earning a resounding 8/10 for pioneering multiplayer ingenuity. In gaming’s vast archive, Snafu reminds us: sometimes, the deadliest games are the simplest to get tangled in. Fire up an emulator—your inner strategist awaits.