I remember the first time I fired up the remake of Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 1+2 and being absolutely blown away by how perfectly it captured the magic of those original PlayStation classics. The feel, the flow, the iconic soundtrack—it was all there, polished to a mirror shine. So when I heard about the approach for Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3+4, I was genuinely excited to dive back in. But what I discovered was a fascinating, and at times frustrating, evolution of the formula. The changes they made to the Career mode are some of the most debated in the skating community, and after spending a solid 40 hours with the game, I've got some strong feelings about them.

Let's talk about the big one: the unified Career mode. In the original THPS3 and 4, each skater had their own individual tour. This wasn't just a cosmetic difference. If you were playing as a Vert specialist like Bucky Lasek, the game would recognize that. The goals would often play to your character's strengths. You wouldn't be asked to do some insane street trick if your skater was built for the half-pipe. I have this vivid memory of playing as a Street skater in the original THPS3's Airport level. Instead of being forced to perform the notoriously difficult Airwalk over the escalator—a move that requires serious air time and precision, something a Street skater might struggle with—the game would ask me to Crooked Grind around the baggage claim area. It felt right. It felt like the game understood the fantasy of being that specific skater. The remake throws that philosophy out the window. Now, it doesn't matter if you're Tony Hawk himself or a custom skater you've built from the ground up; you're all following the same set list of goals. That Airwalk over the escalator? It's now a mandatory skill check for everyone. On one hand, it streamlines the experience. You can switch between any of the 40+ skaters and not lose your progress, which is convenient. But on the other hand, it completely flattens the personality and unique challenge of playing as different characters. It makes the world feel less dynamic, and for a veteran like me, it removes a significant layer of replayability. Why would I play through Career mode again with a different skater if the journey is going to be 95% identical?

This homogenization extends to the collectibles, those iconic S-K-A-T-E letters that taunt you from seemingly impossible perches. In the original games, their placement wasn't just random; it was often tailored to the type of skater you were playing. A letter might be positioned in a way that was easier to reach with a Vert skater's higher air stats, or it might require the nimble grinding of a Street specialist. Finding them all felt like a personalized puzzle. The remake assigns them to a single, fixed set of locations in each level. While this creates a consistent challenge for the community to solve together, it also discards that subtle, clever design that made hunting for them feel so unique to each playthrough. It's a small change on paper, but it's one of those "unnecessary" tweaks that, over time, does weaken the fun. You're no longer thinking, "How would this skater get up there?" You're just thinking, "How do I get up there?" It's a subtle but important shift in perspective.

Now, I don't want to sound like I'm just grumbling about the good old days. There are definite benefits to this new system. For a new player jumping in, it's undoubtedly less confusing. You don't have to worry about committing to one skater for a full tour or missing out on content because you chose the "wrong" character. The progression is clean and straightforward. But for me, the magic of the Tony Hawk games was always in their chaotic, personalized charm. The original system encouraged you to master different playstyles. It forced you to adapt. Getting 100% completion with every skater was a monumental task because each tour presented its own nuanced challenges. In the remake, getting 100% is still a grind—I'd estimate it took me around 60 hours to nail every goal across all levels—but it's a repetitive one. You're essentially doing the same thing 40 times over with slightly different stats, rather than embarking on 40 distinct journeys.

In the end, the evolution of Crazy Time in Tony Hawk's Pro Skater 3+4 is a classic case of streamlining versus depth. The developers opted for a more accessible, unified experience, and from a sales perspective, you can't really blame them. It probably made the game more approachable for a new generation. But for those of us who lived and breathed the originals, it feels like a step back. It trades the quirky, character-driven soul of the older games for a more sterile, one-size-fits-all model. I still had a blast with the game—the core gameplay is as tight as ever—but I can't help but feel a little nostalgic for the days when choosing your skater meant choosing your adventure. The baggage claim Crooked Grind will always hold a special place in my heart, a reminder of a time when the game world felt just a little more alive and responsive to the virtual athlete you chose to be.