A Eulogy for Handheld Video Games

9 years ago, a core pillar of the video game space died. Nothing has replaced it.

May 26, 2026

I’ve been playing a lot on my Analogue Pocket lately. It is a handheld game console capable of playing 2D retro games from consoles up to and including the GBA through the use of an FPGA to perfectly recreate the experience of playing on real hardware. Aside from being able to play with nearly no lag (especially compared to emulation), I’ve found that Analogue Pocket is better for my back when playing on the couch as it obviates the need to tilt my head down as a laptop would. On top of that, being a device dedicated to gaming means I don’t get distracted from my distractions with doomscrolling, because Pocket can’t doomscroll. It being a little more difficult to create arbitrary mid-game suspend points also makes it harder to jump around between games, encouraging me to play a single game for a few hours instead of spending that same amount of time jumping around between several titles and not really getting to enjoy any of them properly.

For decades, handheld games have been regarded by players and developers as the “compromised” or even “inferior” versions of what could be found on home consoles. Teams developing handheld games would often be smaller. Pixel art is easier to draw and requires fewer artists. Tiny sound chips place limits on how intricate music can be (and said music often needs to cohabitate with SFX as well, further limiting musical complexity). 2D gameplay systems are easier to program and often have fewer edge cases for things like animations. Fewer buttons on a system means gameplay needs to be simpler, and handheld spins on console games would often need to be significantly trimmed to accommodate this limitation.

Still, the same could be said of gaming on 2D home consoles, or simply of any game targeting a lower-power system which required less manpower to develop games. Of course, there is one other factor far more common to handheld video games that have made them so endearing to me: Short and repetitive gameplay loops backed by a lot of meaty game content. The unmatched peak of handheld games is the application of compact gameplay loops that can be finished within the span of one’s commute or in a spare half-hour here and there, leading to a meaningful game session while also advancing the game’s overall world state. It’s the kind of design that indie developers strive to achieve nowadays, and it is my opinion that games designed for handhelds were leading the way on this for decades while console games were too preoccupied with dazzling their audiences.

The Pokémon games are terrific examples of gameplay loops serving a deep macro game. Each entry has a lengthy campaign requiring a few dozens of hours just to reach the end. Once you’ve done so, you are presented with the opportunity to Catch ’em All to complete one’s Pokédex. For players more interested in diving into the intricacies of the game’s battle system, various options are presented for battling in a more competitive setting (either alone or with others). Both of these can be done at the player’s pace in short bursts over the long term.

Another example I like is Final Fantasy Tactics Advance, which allows the player to slowly fill in the game world with new areas that spawn new random encounters or complete ever-increasing numbers of missions all backed by a complex turn-based strategy system that reminds me of Dungeons & Dragons of all things. Turn on your console, start a mission, and a half-hour later your clan is a little richer, your characters a little stronger, and other missions a little easier to finish. The game is absurdly deep but only carefully reveals that depth over time. You can get hours of enjoyment out of the game without even coming close to finishing its story, because it understands that the story is just an excuse to push you into engaging with the gameplay.

On the flip side, handhelds were also the home of shorter experiences of a more consistent quality. When a developer can only fit so many ideas into a game, superfluous ones get cut and lesser-quality content would almost always be the first to get the axe. In other words, all killer and no filler. A solid game that could be finished in two or three hours may seem like a questionable value proposition, but it meant that such experiences were easy to return to and often offered reasons to do so; highscores and personal best speedrun times are a great impetus for revisiting an old adventure.

After playing through Metroid II: Return of Samus last year, I have since replayed it at least half a dozen times. Probably more. It’s now easily my favourite Metroid title—and I’ve played each of the main series’ entries multiple times. It’s a fun adventure that (for my skill level) easily fits in the span of two hours. Even taking breaks for dinner or household chores, I can play through the entire game in a single evening, often shaving a minute or two off my best time—assuming I don’t take too much damage from those Omega Metroids, that is. It’s so good.

I played through Banjo-Kazooie: Grunty’s Revenge for the first time last week. I’d previously tried it a few times but had never finished it. My final time was just over 3 hours of gameplay, though I also took a few breaks during my session. Where a replay of the other Banjo titles (all of which I enjoy) would take longer—risking that I bounce off and drop the game in favour of whatever else grabs my attention—this one is substantial enough that I can look forward to having something to go back to, while also being short enough that I can be confident I’ll actually finish the game instead of replaying the same opening act over and over.

3D Zelda games have always gotten acclaim, but in my view it has always been the 2D top-down Zelda games that have been more consistently enjoyable. A Link to the Past, Link’s Awakening, the Oracle games, and Minish Cap are all viewed in high regard. I recall spending many hours scouring the seas in Phantom Hourglass and retrying its eminently replayable Temple of the Ocean King to get new treasures and aim for good finishing times, on which the game scores you. At the very least, I know none of these games would ever demand that I stop what I’m doing to collect two dozen beads before allowing me to move on with the game, and I can’t say the same about the 3D Zelda games that seem to be so much more popular among general audiences.

None of the examples I listed today would be easy to find on mobile phone storefronts, which are dominated by predatory monetization practices emphasizing repeat purchases. Console manufacturers have all but given up on handhelds, with the only one approaching this being Nintendo with their Switch line of console/handheld hybrids which—despite having a decently comfortable handheld factor with a good battery life—mainly offers modern home console experiences. I think this is a shame, and a mistake. Players, developers, and game publishers are all feeling the pain of ever-increasing game budget sizes and lengthy development times resulting in expensive titles with little more to offer than prettier visuals. Sequels now take so long to release that developers have to take even more time to ensure that their stories are coherent to an audience that might have entirely forgotten what happened last time (lest they lose interest). Remakes dominate much of the video game mindscape because they’re a safer bet for everyone—if you’re doing to spend so much making/buying the game, you’d rather be absolutely sure it’s good. All indies seem to crib the same survival-crafting and farming mechanics as one another, meaning the traditional refuge from uninteresting and uncreative trash has itself also gone slop.

I think the problem of overly massive video game development budgets and overly expensive game prices could be solved by bringing back the spirit of handheld games. Compromise the graphical, sound, and control capabilities to impose limitations on the creatives developing new titles. Also, remove the third dimension—it only complicates things. Limitations breed creative problem-solving, spawning fresh ideas for fun experiences. With a smaller solution space to explore, developers spend less time fretting about decisions and more time actually creating things that their project can use. Smaller development teams have less communication and coordination overhead, and so every contributor can spend more time actually working toward the finish line instead of sitting in meetings. Splinters of larger development teams can finish entire titles in the time it takes for an HD AAA console title to go from “alpha” to “still in alpha but it’s now three years later”. Developers gain insight from finishing entire projects, and it becomes increasingly difficult to understand what works and what doesn’t if teams can’t even ship two finished games in the span of a decade (and it’s only getting worse). Shipping more titles in a smaller timeframe allows side-teams to gain valuable experience where AAA teams flounder. More to the point, a team half the size of a console game development team developing a title in half the time has a quarter of the costs, and this example is still overly inflated in terms of costs. A game developed this way and sold at half the price of a conventional AAA title would still have double the profit margins of the more expensive one, and can be sold to a larger audience that balks at $80 titles but is open to $40 ones. Add onto that the fact that handheld games would rarely take longer than 2 years to make while the median console title of today takes 6 and the solution to today’s video game pricing woes seems obvious. Alas.

Because today’s game industry has altogether stopped producing titles like the handheld games I love so dearly, I go elsewhen to sate my hunger for those experiences. I don’t worry about analog stick drift, gyroscope recalibration, or 4-button chords to execute certain actions. I’m not fighting awkwardly-positioned cameras or struggling to read realistic terrains in an effort to figure out where to go. My maps aren’t filled with hundreds of checklist items, and getting from point A to point B is a quick enough endeavour that I don’t feel the need to spend half of my play session inside fast travel loading screens.

Instead, I explore worlds small enough that navigation isn’t tedious, presented from fixed perspectives that make it easy to remember the relative location of various landmarks (even if I can’t turn a camera to see them). I enjoy memorable melodies because old systems couldn’t dream of filling my ears with 90-piece orchestras that drown out anything I might recognize with just a few repetitions. I play as characters that possess a small number of core actions which I always use, instead of dozens of ancillary actions that I forget are at my disposal except when I have to use them every hour or so.

I miss handheld games, but I’m grateful that I can still play the classics in the absence of new ones. Perhaps one day the world will relearn how to make them, and why.