Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck. But who knows what he's thinking? Who knows why he touches flowers? And why do we think about him as fondly as we think of the mystical (nonexistent?) Dr Pepper? Perchance.

I believe it was Kant who said "Experience without theory is blind, but theory without experience is mere intellectual play." Mario exhibits experience by tushing flowes all day, but he exhibits theory by stating "Lets-a go!" Keep it up, baby!

When Mario leaves his place of safety to grab a flowey, he knows that he may Die. And yet, for a man who can purchase lives with money, a life becomes a mere store of value. A tax that can be paid for, much as a rich man feels any law with a fine is a price. We think of Mario as a hero, but he is simply a one percenter of a more privileged variety. The lifekind. Perchance.

Seventeen years ago, Nintendo released New Super Mario Bros., and they fucking meant it when they said “new”.

The company may as well have struck crude oil for the sheer amount of money that they printed after its release; thirty million copies sold served as the clearest sign they were ever going to get that this was the way the series needed to be from here on out. A decade and a half later, and almost literally every single 2D Mario game we’ve gotten since has been a member of the New sub-franchise — New Super Mario Bros. Wii, New Super Mario Bros. 2, there was even a New Super Luigi U. You can argue that Super Mario Maker breaks the pattern, but I’d argue back that dropping a glorified level editor and telling the players to design the games themselves doesn’t count for much. Besides, Mario Maker is still a lateral step at best; it’s playing the same hits as before, just rolling four previously-released games together to be swapped around as needed. The New Super Mario Bros. mode, funnily enough, turned out to have the most advanced movement tech, meaning that the most serious players and level designers effectively found themselves with yet another New game fairly early into Mario Maker’s lifespan.

Nintendo’s modus operandi seemed to be that if you somehow weren’t sick of New Super Mario Bros. yet, then they’d make sure that you would be. Every subsequent game seemed to scrape a couple of extra flakes of wood off of the bottom of the barrel, desperate to find something else they could extract from this fucking sub-series. New Super Luigi U was a download-only level pack for New Super Mario Bros. U that starred exclusively Luigi, because at least that was different enough from starring Mario to warrant its own game; New Super Mario Bros. 2 put an obscene emphasis on the act of collecting coins, which is almost universally the least exciting part of any Mario game. The 3D entries — Galaxy, 3D World, Odyssey — seemed to be the place where Nintendo was still experimenting and innovating what Mario could be, while the 2D games quietly shuffled along in rote stagnancy for two decades like retirees towards death. There was no zest, nothing fresh, just an endless series of “bah-bah”s and maybe one or two new power-ups every couple years so you didn’t start thinking that you spent sixty dollars for the exact same game again (you did).

Super Mario Bros. Wonder gives 2D Mario a personality again, and it’s a complete triumph for that fact alone.

How truly great it is to play a game like this without any positive expectations, and instead come away with full confidence that it’s some of the best that Mario has ever been. Of course, maybe that’s not saying much — 2D Mario has been almost exclusively New Super Mario Bros. for about half of the entire franchise’s lifetime now — but Super Mario World and Super Mario Bros. 3 are often hailed as the best platformers ever made, so anything that can stand next to them is doing something very right. If I’m being completely honest, I think it clears both of them easily. Call it recency bias, but it’s been a long, long time since I’ve been this impressed by anything Nintendo’s put out.

The game managed to get all the way through prototyping without a deadline, and it unquestionably shows. Wonder has a whole box full of toys that it's eager to show the player, and it almost never lingers on any of them; the majority of level gimmicks here get used just a single time and never again, while the most common returning gimmicks really only appear maybe three times before vanishing forever. All of them feel about as realized as they could be; while it may sound a bit like the game is just throwing out everything in the hope of something sticking, most of these concepts are really only fun for one or two levels, and it wouldn't be wise to try making a full game out of them.

It revels in being strange. As strange as Mario is ever going to be allowed to be, at least. It took me a little bit to make a decision on whether I thought the talking flowers were charming or annoying, but I eventually ended up liking them; as the game goes on, they get progressively more and more unhinged, dropping the "you did such a good job" schtick to just start saying strange shit. One level is filled with green goo that you need to swim through to progress, and the flowers won't stop talking about how much they want to eat it. When you get the wonder seed, turn into a goo ball, and then pass by one of the flowers, he audibly licks you and then says how delicious you are. I think about that flower a lot. What a little fucking freak he was.

The badge system serves mostly to trivialize an already easy game, giving the player the option to get extra mid-air jumps, or a free rescue from a bottomless pit, or adding exclamation point blocks everywhere that cover basically every hazard you could ever possibly deal with in a given stage. It definitely feels designed more to provide an experience than a challenge, and I think that's fine. I would love to see a level pack for this that ramps up the difficulty so I'm not constantly walking around with 99 lives and 999 flower coins, but I'm probably not the target audience for this anyway. Mario is for kids, after all. We've gotta wean them off of this before we start hitting them with the Celeste C-sides. Regardless, though, the badges mostly offer some unique ways to engage with these levels, and there are tons of secret paths in every single one that you can only access by snooping around off the top of the screen or behind brick-covered passageways. There's a shocking amount to explore here, which is extra surprising considering how inherently linear a 2D sidescrolling stage is going to be.

I had an absurd amount of fun with Wonder, and the ten or so hours it took me to breeze through it just melted away without me even noticing. Fingers crossed that this completely buries New Super Mario Bros. from here on out. If this is the way that Nintendo is going to be developing 2D Mario games, then I'm absolutely going to be here for it.

I have to be careful about asking for more like this, though. Nintendo might spend the next twenty years making nothing but Super Mario Bros. Wonder sequels.

You know, I have a history of WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS disliking zelda games since I was a WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS little kid. Maybe part of it WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS is because I had all sega stuff growing up, but WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS going back to link's awakening once I WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS finally acquired a taste for zelda and saw everyone say this game is WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS one of the best in the series only to discover WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS that it plays it's little fucking "you cant do this yet" message every WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS fucking WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS time you even so much as touch the WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS thing you can't use yet that I just cant help but think my old point of view was just a little bit WOW THIS LOOKS PRETTY HEAVY YOU WONT BE ABLE TO LIFT IT WITH JUST YOUR BARE HANDS justified.

Many people are familiar with David Lynch's screed against watching films on smart phones. I agree with Lynch that watching films on phones sucks, though people certainly take it further. If you spend enough time talking about movies, you will encounter the "well you didn't really see the movie watching in that format" argument: only this cut, on this size screen, projected in these specifications, colour graded this way, with this quality of sound, sitting in this seat, and knowing this historical context is the only true experience of a film. Undeniably these factors can impact your appreciation of a film but I will maintain that, unless you stopped watching, you did see the movie. When my dad saw Mad Max: Fury Road on a plane and didn't like it, he was seeing it equally as much as I did in a theatre with a packed crowd or when he saw it on a big TV and enjoyed it a lot more.

You'll find this sort of discourse in any artistic medium, and as I've gotten more into video games, I've both seen and advanced similar arguments myself. Beyond the obvious instances where controllers differ substantially in form and function or a CRT provides a more authentic image, you have hundreds of invisible technical quirks that can affect the experience for better or worse. It becomes easy to just recommend/instruct people to play a game you enjoyed in the exact way you did and not risk the potential differences of emulating or going back to original hardware or whatever undermining their enjoyment. There will also always be the argument in gaming for the highest specs and most modern conveniences possible: give me a 30 year old 8-bit game running on my 360Hz 4K OLED monitor with save states, rewind, debug menu available, whole nine yards (and if I like it there better be a randomizer mod I can try out afterward).

This is a long way of saying I don't really care how you play Link's Awakening: on a pea-green Game Boy, on your Switch, on your phone; in its original, DX, or remade version; for a couple hours, to the end, to 100% completion, etc. Go nuts. There's value in all its iterations, and all of it is Link's Awakening. However you played it, you played it, and I wouldn't be concerned about what someone in a discord or on here will shame you for.

But if after all that you'll indulge me one thing: I think you should play it handheld, because I think that's the point.

Worlds in (single player, offline) games materialize when you boot them up and disappear when you turn them off. Multiple games have made artistic hay under that particular sun, tending towards the "the best thing you can do is stop playing" conceit. Link's Awakening is distinct. I've heard Koholint Island being a dream described as a twist, when in reality it is much more a premise. I'd say the twist is that despite being the destined hero who always saves the day in other Zelda games, here there is nothing you can do to alter the transience of this world. Yet the game wants you to keep playing, and see it through to its conclusion.

We make and unmake every dream we have, inherently. Turning an idea into something material or corporeal is both creation and destruction: the result is never exactly what is in your mind, and you can never quite go back to what it was as just an idea. That disconnect can make anyone despondent if they dwell on it; if they let it convince them there is no value to making something no one will see just as you see it, if they see it at all. "Verily, it be the nature of dreams to end."

The Wind Fish is right, but it is also the nature of all things to transform. Experience becomes memory becomes premonition becomes experience and on and on. Dreams deferred will dry/fester/stink/crust/sag/explode. The story in the author's mind becomes the story in the cartridge becomes the story in my mind. You know it's just images moving really fast, it's just words put into a specific order, it's just code rendering. But when I take out my Switch and boot up this game, I feel like I am holding a world in my hand. I know it will textually evaporate when I finish it, I know it will literally evaporate when I turn it off, I know it was never really there to begin with.

But they only ever made and remade this game for handheld devices. And when I hold it I feel it. And maybe by telling that to you, you'll hold this game and feel it too. Or maybe you'll feel something different because you've held these words in your head. I'm fine with whatever.

The simple act of holding hands is key to a bond between boy and girl that transcends their language barrier. With no HUD, no life bar, no button prompts, and no tutorials, Ico is the purest experience in all of gaming. You discover everything for yourself, with nothing to break your immersion. The castle the game takes place in is a character unto itself, your prison and biggest obstacle, with such a well thought out interconnected design.

A game absolutely everyone should play to open their eyes to the power of the medium for storytelling, a landmark in gameplay-story integration.

Content Warning for Attempted Suicide, Terminal Illness, Death, and Chronic Illness

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It’s September 2011 and I’m seventeen years old when I try to kill myself. There are two ponds near my parent’s house. It’s like 4 AM. I like to be out this early. Nobody else is awake, and they won’t be for a while. It’s like the whole world belongs to me. I wander around between the neighborhoods, along the roads, and in the fields. In ten years these will be fresh real estate properties but today they’re still farmland. This hour and a half is the only time the anxiety quells. The real world never knows peace. There’s a dread that accompanies every action and every moment; living in that house, going to school, hanging out with my friends (are they my friends? They are but I won’t be able to understand that until I’m healthier). I’ll always have to go back home. I’ll never be able to articulate what’s happening to me. The pressure is too intense. I don’t plan it, but, the pond is right there, and it’s deep enough, and early enough that no one will hear me. Not having a plan is what saves my life. Turns out impromptu self-drownings are difficult to pull off when the water is still and not THAT deep. So, it doesn’t work, and I’m soaked, and grateful to get home and hide the evidence before my parents wake up, but I don’t feel BETTER. I feel despair, still. There’s no way out. I wish I could just climb up the stairwell, out of this. I wish I had the clarity to understand what was wrong with me.

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What do you even say about Silent Hill 2? To say that it’s one of the best video games ever made feels simultaneously obvious and like I’m underselling it, right? Fuckin, uhhhh, Resident Evil 2 is one of the best video games ever made. Ace Attorney 3 is one of the best games ever made. Come on! When we see people talk about old games that they like they’ll so often say stuff like “it holds up really well for its age” or some similar comment that implies that progress is the same as quality. This is, of course, nonsense. I wouldn’t say video games are better as a medium in 2021 than they were in 2001; on the whole and in the mainstream I would say they’re demonstrably worse in almost every way – how they look, how they sound, how they feel. Silent Hill 2 was a AAA game. What do we get now instead? Far Cry 6? The fuckin, THE MEDIUM? We’ve lost everything in pursuit of bad lighting and looking like a mediocre episode of whatever was popular on HBO three years ago. Silent Hill 2 looks great and sounds great and fuck you it plays great too it feels good and even the puzzles are MOSTLY FINE. MOSTLY. Listen I’m saying this is the all time best video game I’m not saying it fuckin ended world hunger.

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It’s October 2012, I’m nineteen and I’m sitting in a business communications class when I get the text confirmation that Sam’s brain tumor is back, again. It’s not the first time, and I know that there’s nothing left to do, he’s going to die. It’s fast, untreated. He’s one of my best friends, and the only person I know from home who went to the same college as me, but we live really far apart on a big urban campus and I haven’t seen him as much as I’d have liked to. Now he’s gonna spend the rest of his time with his family back home. When I see him next it’s at a hometown charity event for his family in December. He’s unrecognizable physically, and he can’t speak. The event is at our old catholic elementary school, in the gym, where in the years since we graduated they’ve painted a giant tiger on the wall. It’s the school mascot. I feel incredibly awkward around him and spend most of the time away with our other friends. I only speak to him briefly, and when I do it’s a stupid joke about the tiger mural. These will be my last words to him. I do know this will be the case, I think. Later that month I’ll be one of his pallbearers. I spend a lot of time angry and ashamed of myself for not being better to him, not knowing how to act or what to say. I’m about to drop out of school for reasons financial and related to my mental health.

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So what DO you say about Silent Hill 2? That it’s a masterpiece? That it’s the most well-conceived and executed video game ever made? That every detail of it dovetails into every other in a legitimately perfect cocktail story, presentation, and play? That the performances, cinematography, soundscape, all of it are untouchably top of their class? That when Mary reads the letter at the end I WEEP because it’s one of the best pieces of acting I’ve ever heard? That if I ever meet Troy Baker it’s ON SIGHT? These things are all true. We all know it. Everybody knows this. It’s Silent Hill 2.

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It’s August 2019, I’m twenty-five and I’ve just managed to graduate college in time to move to a new city with my partner as she enters her third year of medical school. That’s the year they kick you out of the classroom and you start going to the hospitals to do your real hands-on training month to month. I’m job hunting unsuccessfully and we’re living exclusively off her loans, when what seems at first like a pulled lower back muscle becomes a fruitless early morning ER trip (five hours, no results, not seen by a doctor) becomes an inability to get out of bed becomes a forced leave of absence. Without a diagnosis she can’t get disability accommodations. While on a leave of absence we can’t have her loans, and in fact we have to pay them back. We’re getting desperate, thousands of dollars in debt, and I take the first soul sucking job I can find. It takes almost a full year of visits to increasingly specialized physicians but eventually my partner is diagnosed with non radiographic axial spondyloarthritis, an extremely rare condition that culminates in the fusion of the spinal column. We can treat the pain, sort of, but it’s only a matter of time until it’s likely to evolve into a more serious condition, she’ll never have the strength or stamina she had before, and the treatment options are expensive and difficult. Her diagnosis doesn’t even officially exist as a recognized condition that people can have until September 2020.

Suddenly I am a caretaker and everything is different now. Obviously our mood is stressed from the financial dangers, but she’s in pain, terrible pain, constantly for months. She can’t sleep, she can’t eat. There’s nothing I can do. It’s exhausting to live like that. She’s depressed. On good days we try to walk outside but good days are few and far between, and grow fewer over time, and her body makes her pay for the walks. She’s on drugs, a lot of them. Do they help? It’s unclear. They don’t make her feel BETTER. Nobody knows what’s wrong with her. Her school thinks she’s faking, they’re trying to concoct ways to get her kicked out. She wants to die. It breaks my heart. She’s everything to me, all that there is. She has literally saved my life. And I can’t help her. But it’s exhausting for me too. I don’t want to admit this, not even privately, to myself. It is hard to be the person who is leaned on, especially when the person you love can’t give anything back. I’m tired. I’m not angry, and I don’t think I’m resentful. But I’m tired. I feel shame for thinking about it, for acknowledging it. I know it’s silly to feel the shame but it’s there. I do find a job eventually, thankfully, but it’s still a long time before we get a diagnosis, much less an effective treatment. Even after things settle somewhat, it’s a hard year. And there are hard times to come.

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Ever since I first played it as a teen, Silent Hill 2 is a game that has haunted me through life, like a memory. It struck a deep chord with me when I was too young for that to be fair, too young to identify why I could relate to these people and their ghosts. I used to think this was a special relationship that I had with the game, the way you kind of want to think you have these when you’re younger, but the older I get the more I recognize this as part of growing up. Silent Hill 2 doesn’t resonate with me because I’ve encountered situations in life that closely mirror that of the protagonist. I mean, Angela’s story resonates deeply with me despite little overlap in the specifics of our family traumas. Silent Hill 2 touches me – and most of us – so deeply, because it has such a keen understanding of what it feels like to be Going Through It. It is a game that knows what it is to grieve, to despair, to soak in the fog, and also, maybe, to feel a catharsis, if you’re lucky, and you do the work.

I’ve been Angela, parts of her. I’ve been Laura too. I’ve had more James in me than I would prefer. I suspect all of us have these people, these feelings in us, to some degree or another. We collect them as we get older. That’s just part of it. Silent Hill 2 isn’t a happy game, but it’s one that Gets It, and lets us explore those spaces in a safe and cathartic way. It does this about as well as any piece of media I’ve encountered, on top of being so excellent at all the cinematic and video game stuff. But that’s really what makes it what it is. The empathy, and the honesty. I think it’s beautiful.

Around the tender age of five, maybe six, my sister uncharacteristically gave me the controller with a suggestion. "Start throwing the pigs in the water," she said. "Attack it with your weapon," she said, with a smile widening on her face.

Totally unaware of actions and consequences and the concept of "deception," I did so.

Thoroughly traumatized, I only played Zelda again in my 20s.

If a game could ever sell itself to me on charm alone it might just be this one. Even two decades after its release, and with so many games taking inspiration from the game's aesthetic, Wind Waker still feels like a breath of fresh air to play. The cel-shading here allows for an expressiveness that it feels like The Legend of Zelda had been trying to reach for for years, whilst making the series' tendency to bizarre character designs land in a much more consistently endearing manner than the previous entries. Even many of the stock enemies are just adorable in this game, from doggo darknuts to toucan wizzrobes. The game's soundtrack is also just incredible, helping make the game just have such good vibes to it; even during the Wind Waker's lulls it still largely manages to present spaces that are just so nice to exist in because of how all these elements come together.

The narrative aspects here feel very underrated to me; I hardly ever hear Wind Waker complimented in this regard, but gosh. Granted I think the Zelda series' ability to bring out striking moments of emotionality just generally goes undermentioned, but in my release order playthrough of the series Wind Waker may be the high-point so far in this regard. Moreso than how Link's Awakening gradually makes you accept that you'll have to let go, than the longing found at the heart of Ocarina of Time's exploration of the intersection of nostalgia and growing up, than how Majora's Mask stares oblivion and failure in the face, somehow Wind Waker's much simpler coming of age tale, told through the love you have for your family and friends, within the framework of an even heightened focus on the interweaving of history and legends, just hits perfectly for me with seemingly every story beat managing to land either in terms of emotion or humour. It helps that this is the first Zelda game to actually put work into making Zelda and Ganondorf feel like actual characters instead of just symbols, I just love both their characterisations a ton.

The actual gameplay of Wind Waker is where the game falls a bit short. I remember playing this game as a teenager and dropping it during the Triforce shard fetch-quest when the sailing was really starting to drag for me. The remake does a lot to help in this regard; the swift sail makes getting around much smoother, and the Triforce shard fetch-quest is significantly truncated to the point where it's actually genuinely fine. Even then by the time I had finished my recent playthrough I was still mostly done with the sailing, the initial joy starting to disappear as your map becomes largely filled in and the lack of variety in mid-sailing occurrences becomes increasingly apparent. Still it's worth it for those early highs of having the map open up to you, discovering all these weird and mysterious islands and piecing together how you're going to access their secrets later on, this portion of the game really is a blast and some of the most fun you can have with a Zelda game.

The dungeon design is less annoying than Majora's Mask, but largely unmemorable and run-of-the-mill, and whilst I don't think there's anything inherently wrong with a game being easy, Wind Waker is markedly so to the point where I would find myself just spamming sword attacks against enemies, accepting I was going to be damaged in the process, because the damage I was taking was just meaningless, throwing strategy out the window because the game couldn't really punish the fact that not thinking through your approach is just faster. At this point in the series sword combat was one of the weakest elements of the 3D Zelda entries, but due to the warped incentives brought by the non-existent difficulty this is the first time that the sword combat has seriously drifted into mindlessness for me.

I may sound harsh at points, but very little of this truly bothered me. The vibes really are just that good that they easily carry the game through its weaker moments, and whilst Wind Waker is certainly far from perfect it has become one of my favourite Zelda games during this return to it.