Art, conceptually, is something that is impossible to contain in a box. It is a slippery, thrashing beast that is defined by its very lack of definition. The task of objectifying art is a task not a single soul can or will be able to do. There is no such thing as “good” or “bad” art. No right or wrong. Nothing. If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, two eyes will never see the same beauty. That, in itself, is art.
Several months ago I went to my old High School to visit my senior year art teacher. We catched up on life, as friends do, but eventually we began introspectively discussing films, shows, creation processes, and the general modern landscape of media. In the discussion of video editing, she brought up a film she had seen that she felt creatively wove together stories of completely unrelated people in a way that felt natural and expressive. In response, I described to her how that description reminded me of the video game Live A Live. She told me she did not have very much context about what video games had to offer, aside from some childhood memories and a flickering fondness for a faint handful of classics like the all-too famous Super Mario Brothers and (the not famous enough!) Dragon’s Lair.
As we continued talking about art, she continued to ask about video games and asked for my perspectives on them. I detailed my love of Dragon Quest, told her of the wondrous watercolor of Yoshitaka Amano’s work on Final Fantasy, and expressed my opinions of remake culture and other aspects of the medium. Eventually she stated, out of her own lack of experience, that she wasn’t aware of any video games that could be considered “fine art”. In response, I stated I believed there was at least one I would crown the title to. I mentioned Katamari Damacy.
To my surprise, she stated back to me that she knew that one and had actually played it long ago. She told me it was very fun. She was, and still is, right. I didn’t have the time to dive into it headfirst like I could have, but that interaction has always stuck with me. Why is Katamari Damacy fine art in my mind? What does it mean to me?
Katamari Damacy, in my eyes, tightropes a line of being both “the most video game” and “the least video game” ever. Not only does it tightrope this unique dilemma, it sways and sambas its way down that very tightrope with pride and confidence. This seemingly irreconcilable dilemma does not make much sense- how can something be the most and the least of anything at the same time? The answer to that is to simply be Katamari Damacy.
What makes something the most video game? I have played the vast majority of my video game library on my malm IKEA desk nestled in my bedroom of my child and early adulthood home. Aside from the stack of games I have played in my- coincidentally also malm IKEA desk containing- apartment bedroom, this location has made my answer to this question clear.
When I was playing Final Fantasy X, my Mom entered my room as I had the game’s sphere grid upgrade menu open. She watched my TV and was confused on what exactly the game I was playing entailed. To further the experiment, I then intentionally triggered a random encounter- detailing the user interface and strategies needed to complete the battle. In this roughly two minute endeavor, I looked at my Mom’s stone-cold poker face and asked her if she “got” the game. She did not.
When I was playing Dragon Quest VIII Journey of the Cursed King, coincidentally another PS2 video game, my Mom also entered my room. She watched my TV and was confused, though enamored enough to comment about the content she was viewing. She mentioned the music was “pretty” and she liked the “graphics”. Much the same way, I curiously entered a random encounter and detailed the user interface and strategies to complete the battle. She did not get this either, but she appreciated it and commented that she “liked it”. A step in the right direction.
When I was playing Katamari Damacy, coincidentally a PS2 era video game once more, my Mom entered my room. She watched my TV and was confused, though in a way I had not seen witnessing her reactions to Final Fantasy X or Dragon Quest VIII. I paused the game and asked what she was thinking at that moment, and she stated that she had not seen me play a game like this before. I detailed her the experience, this time all I needed to say was “You push the ball into smaller objects and it progressively grows”. There was no complicated user interface, no complicated strategies, and for the first time, it was a video game that in a sentence long description you could truly “get”. Eventually this near identical scenario found its way to my sister. She asked if she could play the game, and I handed her the controller and watched as she enjoyed her time. This was the destination.
Universal appeal makes a game become “the most video game”. Tetris. Super Mario Bros. Pac-Man. I have yet to meet a soul who is not able to recognize and/or detail their time playing the game on at least one occasion. They are “the most video game” video games. Katamari Damacy does not have the brand recognition of those gaming giants, but it is as accessible, understandable, and inherently fun as them all. Katamari Damacy is, simply, fun.
But why would it be “the least video game”? If this game is so inherent and fun to pick up and play, what would make it be “the least” of anything? Typically there is a connotation of “least” as an adjective to being negative. This is the “least” fun, this is the “least” appealing, etc. That is not the case with my usage of the word here. When I say Katamari Damacy is the “least” video game, it is me opening the doors of Pandora’s box for this is not simply a video game, but a transcendent and monumentally personal experience for my own self.
When I first played the game, I fell in love with its quirky characters, bold art direction, and incredible game design. However, I didn’t allow myself to play very much of it as I felt like I needed to savor its brilliance. Over time, I returned to the game. I played a level or two. I put it down. This pattern persisted. It was not until I saw the end credits of the game (over a year later!) in which I realized why this game was so brilliant, why I felt I needed to savor it, and why its gameplay experience was a story that I needed to be told. Katamari Damacy is not a video game, it is a symbol of life itself.
As you push around your Katamari ball and watch it grow, it grows in a way that is bumpy, uneven, and sometimes a struggle. Items chaotically fly off, you bump into buildings that pinball you with no remorse, and you hear the tire-screeching halt of fumbling around nearly as often as you successfully pick up an object. You will never complete a stage in Katamari with a perfect sphere to display in your starry sky, nor will you ever have one that mirrors someone else’s attempt. Your failure has you verbally belittled to no end. Your success is given shallow praise. You bear the weight of the universe on your shoulders, thrusted into this task alone and told only to make of it what you can and will. You simply try your best. The fictional, sticky spheres you roll in this game are more than just a colorful piece of geometry- despite not even being sentient, they are human. They are life.
It doesn’t matter that life is bumpy, uneven, and sometimes a struggle. It doesn’t matter that sometimes life chaotically throws away my plans, bumps me into scenarios that toss me around with no remorse, and makes me have to come to a screeching halt. It doesn’t matter that what I do isn’t perfect or looks different in comparison to someone else. It doesn’t matter that failure tears me apart while success is brushed aside. I bear the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am alone. I am told to make of life what I can and will. I simply try my best.
This is why Katamari Damacy is “the least video game” ever. I don’t turn on Katamari to witness a story, pump my adrenaline, or get me thinking in the same way I do with the other games that I love. I turn on Katamari because playing it is a reminder of life itself. It makes me look at it and just enjoy my time. It is simple, it is rewarding, and it is absolutely beautiful. Every time a major event in my life has occurred, good or bad, I have turned on Katamari because it brings me back down to Earth. On the best moments of my life, it is there to remind me to savor and celebrate accomplishments and the beauty life can bring. In the worst moments of my life, it reminds me that I am always growing. In the times between, it is there to simply remind me to enjoy the simple joy and fun that life brings. That feeling of having a thing to latch onto and simply feel is just simply magical. Katamari Damacy is magical.
Fine art is typically described as art that is boldly creative, stirring imagination and intellect. Fine art captivates you, it makes you feel, and it makes you think. When my teacher posed the prospect on which video game is fine art, I confidently stated Katamari Damacy. Months later, I state it confidently once more. Katamari has captivated me for years, it not only makes me feel a wide and colorful spectrum of emotion, but it gives me the tools to think and process through them as I feel.
The most well known piece of music from this games- frankly prodigious- soundtrack is a song titled “Lonely Rolling Star”. It is primarily sung in Japanese, but the song details a story of waiting for love far away. The idea of the song is inherently melancholic, but it is presented so optimistically and upbeat through its tune. Its (English) chorus states
“You’re lonely rolling star
Come on, never stop standing still!
You’re lonely rolling star
So, face forward and keep going!”
That sense of optimism, and pushing to go forward through adversity is emblematic of the magic of Katamari. It realizes the difficulty and adversity of life, and it uses its joyfulness, creativity, imagination, and optimism to simply encourage you to see the beauty within. It’s funny to think about, given this game is so silly and simple, but that only makes its effects on me personally feel more earnest. This is a video game that loves me as I love it.
Katamari Damacy is both the most and least video game ever. It is fine art. It is beautiful. It is very special. I could detail why I love individual aspects of it, why I love the development stories, and why I love the intention of its creation, and why I love the artist behind it- but none of that matters. This is a game that makes me feel, and feel I shall. At the start of this review, I stated that art is impossible to contain in a box, objectify, or properly label. That sentiment still stands, as it always will. However, I bring it up to say that despite the mountainous, downright impossible concept of such labels, I would likely call Katamari Damacy my choice for “favorite piece of art”. If someone were to come up to me and ask the question with no restriction for medium, timeframe, or genre- my answer would be Katamari Damacy.
Over the years now, I have recommended Katamari Damacy to many people, casual and hardcore video game fans alike. Of those who have tried it in my word, I often get a response of “yeah it’s fun” or “it’s neat”. Few, if any, have appreciated it on the same level as I. That’s okay, and I find that beautiful in itself. If you do play it, I hope that you can have an experience as I have, but at least one that also makes you say “yeah it’s fun” and smile. Ultimately however, just as I am, we all are lonely rolling stars. I thus say to you all, face forward and keep going.
I love this video game. Dearly.
Several months ago I went to my old High School to visit my senior year art teacher. We catched up on life, as friends do, but eventually we began introspectively discussing films, shows, creation processes, and the general modern landscape of media. In the discussion of video editing, she brought up a film she had seen that she felt creatively wove together stories of completely unrelated people in a way that felt natural and expressive. In response, I described to her how that description reminded me of the video game Live A Live. She told me she did not have very much context about what video games had to offer, aside from some childhood memories and a flickering fondness for a faint handful of classics like the all-too famous Super Mario Brothers and (the not famous enough!) Dragon’s Lair.
As we continued talking about art, she continued to ask about video games and asked for my perspectives on them. I detailed my love of Dragon Quest, told her of the wondrous watercolor of Yoshitaka Amano’s work on Final Fantasy, and expressed my opinions of remake culture and other aspects of the medium. Eventually she stated, out of her own lack of experience, that she wasn’t aware of any video games that could be considered “fine art”. In response, I stated I believed there was at least one I would crown the title to. I mentioned Katamari Damacy.
To my surprise, she stated back to me that she knew that one and had actually played it long ago. She told me it was very fun. She was, and still is, right. I didn’t have the time to dive into it headfirst like I could have, but that interaction has always stuck with me. Why is Katamari Damacy fine art in my mind? What does it mean to me?
Katamari Damacy, in my eyes, tightropes a line of being both “the most video game” and “the least video game” ever. Not only does it tightrope this unique dilemma, it sways and sambas its way down that very tightrope with pride and confidence. This seemingly irreconcilable dilemma does not make much sense- how can something be the most and the least of anything at the same time? The answer to that is to simply be Katamari Damacy.
What makes something the most video game? I have played the vast majority of my video game library on my malm IKEA desk nestled in my bedroom of my child and early adulthood home. Aside from the stack of games I have played in my- coincidentally also malm IKEA desk containing- apartment bedroom, this location has made my answer to this question clear.
When I was playing Final Fantasy X, my Mom entered my room as I had the game’s sphere grid upgrade menu open. She watched my TV and was confused on what exactly the game I was playing entailed. To further the experiment, I then intentionally triggered a random encounter- detailing the user interface and strategies needed to complete the battle. In this roughly two minute endeavor, I looked at my Mom’s stone-cold poker face and asked her if she “got” the game. She did not.
When I was playing Dragon Quest VIII Journey of the Cursed King, coincidentally another PS2 video game, my Mom also entered my room. She watched my TV and was confused, though enamored enough to comment about the content she was viewing. She mentioned the music was “pretty” and she liked the “graphics”. Much the same way, I curiously entered a random encounter and detailed the user interface and strategies to complete the battle. She did not get this either, but she appreciated it and commented that she “liked it”. A step in the right direction.
When I was playing Katamari Damacy, coincidentally a PS2 era video game once more, my Mom entered my room. She watched my TV and was confused, though in a way I had not seen witnessing her reactions to Final Fantasy X or Dragon Quest VIII. I paused the game and asked what she was thinking at that moment, and she stated that she had not seen me play a game like this before. I detailed her the experience, this time all I needed to say was “You push the ball into smaller objects and it progressively grows”. There was no complicated user interface, no complicated strategies, and for the first time, it was a video game that in a sentence long description you could truly “get”. Eventually this near identical scenario found its way to my sister. She asked if she could play the game, and I handed her the controller and watched as she enjoyed her time. This was the destination.
Universal appeal makes a game become “the most video game”. Tetris. Super Mario Bros. Pac-Man. I have yet to meet a soul who is not able to recognize and/or detail their time playing the game on at least one occasion. They are “the most video game” video games. Katamari Damacy does not have the brand recognition of those gaming giants, but it is as accessible, understandable, and inherently fun as them all. Katamari Damacy is, simply, fun.
But why would it be “the least video game”? If this game is so inherent and fun to pick up and play, what would make it be “the least” of anything? Typically there is a connotation of “least” as an adjective to being negative. This is the “least” fun, this is the “least” appealing, etc. That is not the case with my usage of the word here. When I say Katamari Damacy is the “least” video game, it is me opening the doors of Pandora’s box for this is not simply a video game, but a transcendent and monumentally personal experience for my own self.
When I first played the game, I fell in love with its quirky characters, bold art direction, and incredible game design. However, I didn’t allow myself to play very much of it as I felt like I needed to savor its brilliance. Over time, I returned to the game. I played a level or two. I put it down. This pattern persisted. It was not until I saw the end credits of the game (over a year later!) in which I realized why this game was so brilliant, why I felt I needed to savor it, and why its gameplay experience was a story that I needed to be told. Katamari Damacy is not a video game, it is a symbol of life itself.
As you push around your Katamari ball and watch it grow, it grows in a way that is bumpy, uneven, and sometimes a struggle. Items chaotically fly off, you bump into buildings that pinball you with no remorse, and you hear the tire-screeching halt of fumbling around nearly as often as you successfully pick up an object. You will never complete a stage in Katamari with a perfect sphere to display in your starry sky, nor will you ever have one that mirrors someone else’s attempt. Your failure has you verbally belittled to no end. Your success is given shallow praise. You bear the weight of the universe on your shoulders, thrusted into this task alone and told only to make of it what you can and will. You simply try your best. The fictional, sticky spheres you roll in this game are more than just a colorful piece of geometry- despite not even being sentient, they are human. They are life.
It doesn’t matter that life is bumpy, uneven, and sometimes a struggle. It doesn’t matter that sometimes life chaotically throws away my plans, bumps me into scenarios that toss me around with no remorse, and makes me have to come to a screeching halt. It doesn’t matter that what I do isn’t perfect or looks different in comparison to someone else. It doesn’t matter that failure tears me apart while success is brushed aside. I bear the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am alone. I am told to make of life what I can and will. I simply try my best.
This is why Katamari Damacy is “the least video game” ever. I don’t turn on Katamari to witness a story, pump my adrenaline, or get me thinking in the same way I do with the other games that I love. I turn on Katamari because playing it is a reminder of life itself. It makes me look at it and just enjoy my time. It is simple, it is rewarding, and it is absolutely beautiful. Every time a major event in my life has occurred, good or bad, I have turned on Katamari because it brings me back down to Earth. On the best moments of my life, it is there to remind me to savor and celebrate accomplishments and the beauty life can bring. In the worst moments of my life, it reminds me that I am always growing. In the times between, it is there to simply remind me to enjoy the simple joy and fun that life brings. That feeling of having a thing to latch onto and simply feel is just simply magical. Katamari Damacy is magical.
Fine art is typically described as art that is boldly creative, stirring imagination and intellect. Fine art captivates you, it makes you feel, and it makes you think. When my teacher posed the prospect on which video game is fine art, I confidently stated Katamari Damacy. Months later, I state it confidently once more. Katamari has captivated me for years, it not only makes me feel a wide and colorful spectrum of emotion, but it gives me the tools to think and process through them as I feel.
The most well known piece of music from this games- frankly prodigious- soundtrack is a song titled “Lonely Rolling Star”. It is primarily sung in Japanese, but the song details a story of waiting for love far away. The idea of the song is inherently melancholic, but it is presented so optimistically and upbeat through its tune. Its (English) chorus states
“You’re lonely rolling star
Come on, never stop standing still!
You’re lonely rolling star
So, face forward and keep going!”
That sense of optimism, and pushing to go forward through adversity is emblematic of the magic of Katamari. It realizes the difficulty and adversity of life, and it uses its joyfulness, creativity, imagination, and optimism to simply encourage you to see the beauty within. It’s funny to think about, given this game is so silly and simple, but that only makes its effects on me personally feel more earnest. This is a video game that loves me as I love it.
Katamari Damacy is both the most and least video game ever. It is fine art. It is beautiful. It is very special. I could detail why I love individual aspects of it, why I love the development stories, and why I love the intention of its creation, and why I love the artist behind it- but none of that matters. This is a game that makes me feel, and feel I shall. At the start of this review, I stated that art is impossible to contain in a box, objectify, or properly label. That sentiment still stands, as it always will. However, I bring it up to say that despite the mountainous, downright impossible concept of such labels, I would likely call Katamari Damacy my choice for “favorite piece of art”. If someone were to come up to me and ask the question with no restriction for medium, timeframe, or genre- my answer would be Katamari Damacy.
Over the years now, I have recommended Katamari Damacy to many people, casual and hardcore video game fans alike. Of those who have tried it in my word, I often get a response of “yeah it’s fun” or “it’s neat”. Few, if any, have appreciated it on the same level as I. That’s okay, and I find that beautiful in itself. If you do play it, I hope that you can have an experience as I have, but at least one that also makes you say “yeah it’s fun” and smile. Ultimately however, just as I am, we all are lonely rolling stars. I thus say to you all, face forward and keep going.
I love this video game. Dearly.