Nostalgia Critique: Saying Goodbye to Channel Awesome

With 2018 ending, I figured I’d look at my personal life and acknowledge the pitfalls and successes. On one hand, I got a draft for a graphic novel finished, secured a decent-paying job, acquired a potential writing contact, got my finances under control for the first time and had an intake at a renowned mental health clinic. On the other hand, I was diagnosed with a mental health disorder, experienced my 13th romantic rejection, said goodbye to my psychiatrist of 17 years, found out that my job was closing in January 2019, learned that my writing style was “unprofessional” and had to be reminded, again, that I’m of a vulnerable minority group. Yet it was acknowledging Doug Walker, an internet figure I’d admired since high school, as an awful human being that really got to me. I say that sounding like a shallow buffoon, but alas!

I probably should’ve seen this coming; after all, not only were there hints of his behaviour early as a few years back, many of which I overlooked, but Doug Walker wasn’t someone I knew personally. He was an internet personality, and he was putting on a face for his viewers. Doug could’ve been a predator and have still been a marketable brand. It sucked to, therefore, have the rug swept from under my feet via former Channel Awesome employees, the site Doug helped co-found, writing an in-depth ledger detailing years of abuse and neglect they’d experienced while working for him. All those years of supporting a monster had finally come to a head, essentially.

The history surrounding #ChangetheChannel was messy and upsetting in several ways. For one, it didn’t come out of nowhere. There’d been months of speculation, and even more years of rumours. So when “The Channel Awesome Ledger” was released this past year, it wasn’t really a surprise. The shock was in the detailed mistreatment, and how incriminating it really was. It leading to a mass-exodus of followers didn’t help.

Two, this controversy was compounded by the realization that one of the site’s late and beloved creators, a man who went by JewWario, was a serial molester. In light of Me Too, that was like adding kerosene to a dumpster fire. JewWario had gained sympathy in light of his suicide a few years prior, so this information only made matters worse.

And three, Channel Awesome’s response was a mess in of itself. Ignoring all of the allegations that were lobbed, site administrator Mike Michaud, who was also one of its founders, gaslighted those complaints by openly attacking the accusers. Initially it was an unapologetic apology, but it quickly turned into a document “debunking” claims in an unprofessional manner. That alone was enough to make me feel ill, and I wasn’t alone, as evidenced by the eventual mass-exodus.

It hurts me now to even write this, even though I’ve tried before. I used to anticipate Doug Walker’s content, anxiously-awaiting his Nostalgia Critic videos when they arrived on Tuesdays. I loved listening to his thoughts on new films through Sibling Rivalry, a feature he shared with his brother Rob. I even, more-recently, looked forward to his Disneycember videos, being casual reviews of Disney classics that re-examined how I thought about them. That last one hurt giving up most, as it made my Decembers more bearable.

So now what? How do I fill my time once occupied by Doug’s content? Better yet, how do I do penance for ignoring the complaints of former Channel Awesome employees? The answer’s difficult, and it’s not like I haven’t caved three times since #ChangetheChannel started. The intense willpower it took to close that door was exhausting, especially with YouTube routinely recommending his videos to me.

A solution I’ve found helpful is to follow and support the creators who were slighted by Channel Awesome. Not all of them, but enough that I can appreciate how they were unfairly-treated. Because they, really and truly, deserved better. That alone alleviates much of the guilt, but I doubt it’ll fully go away.

Ultimately, saying goodbye was the healthiest decision I made. The few times I caved have shown that Doug Walker feels no remorse, instead pretending like nothing happened, so why cling to that? Why embrace that toxicity, especially when it makes me miserable? What could I get out of this situation? Nothing about Channel Awesome makes me feel joy anymore, so why bother?

On a final note, I’d like to apologize to those who were slighted by Channel Awesome, yet I ignored their pain until recently: I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took advantage of your suffering, and I’m sorry that I turned a blind eye to your warnings. It was wrong, and I should’ve known better. I only hope I can repair that bridge in the future, however hard it may be.

Happy New Year, and may 2019 be better than 2018.

Baby It's Old Outside?

The holiday season is frequently dominated by Christmas and Christmas-themed memorabilia. Sure, there are other holidays in December, like Chanukkah and Kwanza, but Christmas is so infused with the spirit of the month that you can’t escape it. And nowhere is this more-apparent than in its music, particularly the controversial song “Baby It’s Cold Outside”. It’s a song so contested that it’s even been recently pulled from many radio stations in-light of the Me Too movement gaining momentum.

The discourse surrounding “Baby It’s Cold Outside” isn’t new. I’ve heard debates over whether or not it’s creepy for a decade, and I’m sure it was going on before then too. For some, the song is a lighthearted duet between a man and woman, no harm intended. For others, however, it reeks of date-rape and non-consensual behaviour. It doesn’t help that the lyrics are especially uncomfortable with this stanza:

“…The neighbors might think (baby, it's bad out there)/Say, what's in this drink? (no cabs to be had out there)…”

To be fair to Frank Loesser, the lyricist, I don’t think he meant anything insensitive with this line. Keep in mind that societal attitudes about flirting and romance were different in the 1940’s, and this might’ve been considered charming. The line “what’s in this drink?” could’ve even been a joke about how the martini/cocktail/insert drink here was non-alcoholic. And given that alcohol’s the drink of choice for guys shamelessly picking up women at bars, being non-alcoholic could suggest that the man has nothing to hide and wants the woman to be warm.

That said, while Loesser was no prophet, and, therefore, couldn’t have predicted the long-term implications of his work, I understand why it’s aged poorly in the 21st Century. Standards for dating, especially within the past year, have changed drastically since the song’s inception, and what might’ve sounded “cute” or “funny” in 1944 is creepy in 2018. Art doesn’t change, but our perceptions of it can over time.

It, therefore, doesn’t surprise me that “Baby It’s Cold Outside” would be deemed inappropriate, especially given what we now know about date rape and sexual assault. It also doesn’t surprise me that people have protested over the song’s existence, to the point of boycotting it or refusing to air it on the radio. But while the intentions might be noble, I’m not a big fan of the song myself, I don’t think pretending it doesn’t exist is helpful either. Like it or not, it’s a part of our historical zeitgeist, and pretending bad behaviour never occurred in the past, intentional or not, is equally as bad as continuing to propagate it.

So, what to do with “Baby It’s Cold Outside”? Honestly, I’m unsure. One suggestion would be to go the Warner Bros. route and include some sort of disclaimer, much like they did with their Merrie Melodies/Silly Symphonies collections. You could have someone famous, like Tom Hanks or Meryl Streep, warn people of the historical context so as to brace them. It’d be expensive, and not completely foolproof, but it’s not entirely out of the question either.

Another suggestion could be to update it, which is what happened a few years ago on YouTube. Making the song consensual would definitely be a step in the right direction, not unlike how parodies or updates transform original works. Besides, speaking personally, while the song itself might be a little creepy, by changing the wording to be more tolerant and accepting, you might actually “fix” what was wrong with it. Even still, going by that train of thought, you can gender-flip the song. It’s been done before to illustrate a point about its questionable content, and having the woman’s position be reversed with the man’s could actually serve as a teaching tool for why the song was objectionable in the first place.

Or you could toss it away, which is what many people are doing now. But I think this is the stickiest response, as, like I said earlier, it pretends that the song and its context never happened, hence revisionist history. It’s not even my least-favourite Christmas tune, that honour belongs to “Grandma Got Run-Over by a Reindeer”, but acting like it never happened won’t only insult the “something-something SJW, something-something PC-culture gone too far” crowd who likes to pretend that there’s a war on Christmas, but also music historians who might find value in it. This isn’t mentioning the aforementioned issues, either.

I don’t think that, at the end of the day, there’s an answer that’ll satisfy everyone. We can have a disclaimer, though that’s easily ignorable. We can update or gender-flip the song to teach a lesson about consent, though that’s only a band-aid solution. We can even toss it out the window and pretend it never happened, though that ignores history altogether. But, like it or not, we live in a world where “Baby It’s Cold Outside” does, in fact, exist. It’s up to us, as a collective, to decide how to handle that.

Netflix Genesis Evangelion

Netflix has been on a hot streak lately. Whether it’s their library getting better, or their decision to break into ambitious, original content, the streaming service has increasingly been one to compete with TV and the theatre-going experience. And now they’re trying to tap into the anime market, with their Netflix-originals and rescuing of classics like Cowboy Bebop and Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Before I delve further, two disclaimers: first and foremost, I don’t mean any of this as a direct attack on the aforementioned people. I don’t know Spike Spencer, Allison Keith, Amanda Winn Lee and the likes, but I’m sure they’re chill individuals and fun to be around. I’ve heard many of their voices in other anime, and I can say for certain that they’re incredibly talented. They also seem to have put hours of work into dubbing shows in the 90’s/early-2000’s, hours they’re never getting back. So if I come across as a little harsh, know that it’s nothing personal.

And secondly, I know nothing about the new dub. I don’t know who’s directing it, or when it’s coming out officially. I don’t even know who’ll be in it. It could end up being amazing, and it could end up being awful. We won’t end up knowing until its release. So please don’t take what I’m about to say as objective truth, as my thoughts could change in a year’s time.

Now then, time to address the elephant in the room:

So Neon Genesis Evangelion is getting re-dubbed for Netflix’s re-release. On one hand, this makes perfect sense: the original dub is pretty old, hailing from pre-Cowboy Bebop days. As such, it feels, especially in early episodes, crusty and hammy, as if the VAs and ADR director weren’t sure how the characters were supposed to sound. Considering it’s now 2018, and dubbing knowledge is more refined, it makes sense to try again. Especially when a fresher dub would help to reach Netflix’s targeted audience.

Unfortunately, not everyone feels this way. Many of the original dub’s VAs, particularly Spike Spencer, have petitioned to be recast for the new dub, even venting on Twitter about it. And many long-time fans have rallied to their cause, stating that “the show wouldn’t be the same without them”. I’m not one to call these fans out in their entirety, since I have my own dub biases too, but I do feel like the backlash is unfounded and unfair.

Let me explain.

Anime, like any collaborative medium, isn’t the voice of a singular individual, but a collective. You have writers, storyboard artists, animators, directors, head directors, voice talents and composers, to name a few. This isn’t counting translating duties overseas, in which you have to localize the original script while translating it, send it to an ADR director and find a new pool of actors, sound mixers and script doctors to make sure flexibility is present while still maintaining intent. This doesn’t account for on-the-spot ad-libbing and script changes, none of which are planned. At the end of the day, a finished anime has gone through hundreds of eyes.

I say this because it’s important to understand that Neon Genesis Evangelion, while culturally-significant, isn’t the property of one person. Even ignoring the aforementioned, the show means something different to each and every fan: for some people, it might’ve helped them cope during a rough spot in their lives, while others like the way that it’s written. That one show can mean so much to so many on different levels speaks volumes about its impact, reemphasizing that it’s not about one particular group of people at one particular point in time. Neon Genesis Evangelion’s success might’ve been helped by its English dub, but it’s not solely because of it.

And this is where I think the original cast got it wrong: yes, Spike Spencer might’ve been a good Shinji Ikari. He might’ve, as evidenced by the Rebuild movies, been a great Shinji Ikari. But he isn’t the only Shinji Ikari, as that’d directly insult Megumi Ogata, the dozens of VAs who took on the role in other languages, and the future VA who’ll do his voice in the Netflix rescue. Besides, Shinji’s a fictional character, he doesn’t belong to one person. Assuming so is a form of gatekeeping.

We don’t need that right now. Anime’s a growing and evolving market, and markets adapt all the time. It’s why capitalism has existed for so long, flaws and all, and why it’ll continue to exist for a while longer. That Neon Genesis Evangelion’s being rescued and revisited for a newer audience is smart, no doubt, but with that comes the need to adapt. And if that means re-dubbing it for a newer, younger audience, then is that so bad?

It’s not like dubs don’t get recommissioned all the time anyway. When Disney had the Studio Ghibli license in North America, they routinely re-dubbed the movies’ older dubs, even the ones that were “decent”. The Dragon Ball franchise has had plenty of re-dubs over the years, including a more-recent remastering by FUNimation to match the show’s repackaging in Japan. Sailor Moon has also been undergoing an extensive re-dub from VIZ Media, this time uncensored and uncut. If those re-dubs can be praised, then why can’t Neon Genesis Evangelion be the same?

I wouldn’t even be surprised if Cowboy Bebop received a re-dub. Would it be heresy? Possibly, since that’s largely considered one of the best dubs ever recorded. But would it be unfathomable? No. The dub’s not exactly flawless, it even has a single bad performance in “Boogie Woogie Feng Shui”, so it’s not like re-dubbing it would be out of the question.

Additionally, the original dub cast needs to realize they don’t own the show. They might’ve cared and improved over time, but they’re not exclusively Shinji Ikari, Asuka Langley, Misato Katsuragi and the likes. They’ve had varied careers over the years, and they need to understand/appreciate that their takes on these beloved characters are exactly that: takes. If someone else wants to step up to bat and try their hand, assuming they do care, they should be allowed. It might suck that the original cast will fade into the annals of history, but that’s what archives are for.

So yeah, Spike Spencer and co. need to let go of Neon Genesis Evangelion, as do their fans. They’ve had a good run, it’s time to give someone else a chance in the spotlight.

Of Disney and Sound Mind...

(Warning: The following entry contains spoilers for Ralph Breaks the Internet. I strongly urge everyone to see the film first.)

Growing up, I assumed that Disney was of two minds. The first mind gave us classics like Fantasia, The Jungle Book, The Disney Renaissance films and, later, Pixar’s line-up. The second mind routinely made bad, corporate decisions and shovelled out garbage in an attempt to shamelessly pander to children. These two minds, at least on the outset, appeared to clash, such that I never could peg the company: were they responsible for some of the best movies ever, or were they responsible for some of the worst movies ever? Did they cater to families, or openly insult them?

I know I’m not alone on my feelings. Many people, myself included, have expressed thoughts about Disney’s recent business practices-from acquiring 20th Century Fox, to unjustly firing James Gunn over old Tweets he’s apologized for-yet have still ended up watching their films anyway. They’ve openly derided Disney’s corporate self-awareness in their recent work, all-the-while enjoying this self-deprecation. They’ve even mocked their shameless live-action remakes of classic movies, despite still seeing them. For every complaint you can lob at Disney’s corporate side, you can as easily give a compliment to their creative side.

Perhaps this is most-apparent in Ralph Breaks the Internet. The film is their fourth canonical sequel, right after The Rescuers Down Under, Fantasia 2000 and Winnie the Pooh, yet it definitely feels the most corporate. This is to be expected, especially with it tackling the internet, but the level of flat-out shamelessness feels in your face. Between references to eBay, YouTube, Twitter, viral videos, search bars, pop-up blockers and online video game servers, I was half-expecting a Rick-Roll. And, thankfully, the movie didn’t disappoint there either.

However, it all clicks, no pun intended. And I think that has to do with Disney’s artistic side, as everything about the movie, even its corporate cynicism, is crafted with a weird sense of love and adoration. Some parts feel like they’re stretching it, like how Ralph’s videos on BuzzTube go viral so quickly and net him big bucks (trust me, it’s not that simple), but it doesn’t lose sight of its own charm. The movie’s creators seem like they actually care, and this extends to the film’s (2nd)-best scene:

Snow White’s vocal solo always gets me. (Courtesy of Disney UK.)

This scene should be the most cynical, contrived part of the entire movie: it’s self-referential, taking place at “Oh My Disney!” (which, by the way, is a real site.) All of the canonical Disney princesses are present, with the living voice actresses reprising their roles, and they each lament their tropes to the audience. And it feels like padding, as Ralph Breaks the Internet borders on 2-hours. Despite this, it’s funny, clever and really well-acted, even resurfacing in the movie’s third-act. So despite later reminding you that, yes, Disney owns the rights to the 60’s Batman theme, because 20th Century Fox, it’s hard to really stay mad when the creators made a great pitcher of lemonade out of shrivelled up, corporate lemons.

You know what else feels refreshingly sincere? The film’s musical showstopper and, arguably, all-around best scene, one destined for a Best Original Song nomination at The Oscars. In it, Vanellope, lamenting about her fondness for the online game Slaughter Race, sings about how she prefers the game to Sugar Rush. It’s a great number that showcases Sarah Silverman and Gal Gadot’s singing chops (which surprised me), but the lyrics are grossly self-aware. You can only hear a line like “Hey, there’s a Dollar Store!” in the opening verse so many times before you smirk at its corporate corniness.

But that’s how Disney is in general: they put enough heart into cash-grabs to make you forget they’re cash-grabs. They repackage the same product in different ways to make you crave it over and over. They also show their awful, business side repeatedly, but you forget all about that with their next offering. Disney, like Nintendo, knows how to force your own nostalgia down your throat and not make you choke, cynical as that is. And if people can overlook Nintendo suing shamelessly over ROM disputes and firing Alison Rapp for moonlighting prostitution in university, then they can overlook Disney unjustly firing James Gunn and not distancing themselves from John Lasseter after his predatory behaviour became public knowledge.

That’s what makes Disney successful, after all! It’s not like they don’t have talented individuals working for them, because they do: they have a strong team of animators and writers. Pixar’s one of their subsidiaries. They’ve made billions of dollars from Marvel and Star Wars, and they’ll soon add Indiana Jones to their repertoire. They even had a temporary deal with Studio Ghibli, pumping money into their later productions and distributing their films in the West. Say what you will about Disney, but there are people in the company who care!

And I don’t think that’s unintentional. As a child, it might’ve seemed like Disney was of contradictory minds, but as an adult I no longer see the contradiction: they can, and do, co-exist. It’s possible to be both corporate and passionate. And it’s possible to build an empire from quality entertainment. Because if Walt Disney himself has taught us anything, it’s that an astute businessman sees the market and jumps on it…even if that means stepping on the toes of others.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna whine some more about the “live-action” remake of The Lion King, even though I’ll probably end up watching it…

On Facing Adversity-Digimon and the Human Struggle

A while back, I wrote a blog responding to Mikey Neumann’s “Lessons Animation Taught Us” video. Looking back…something feels off about it. I don’t think I tackled the subject the right way, or even made it personal enough. So, in the spirit of shamelessly double-dipping, I’m taking another crack at the subject. Except, in order not to confuse everyone, I’m not calling it “Lessons Animation Taught Us”.

I wasn’t the poster child for perfection growing up. Life in general is difficult, but it was especially so for me because of my disabilities. It took me, for instance, 5 years to properly communicate with others, something I’ve more than made up for, and that was because of extensive speech therapy. Academia also proved a challenge, and I was transferred to a special needs school come Grade 5. I struggled all through high school, nearly dropping out of university in my 3rd year. Even now, I still find myself routinely diving headfirst into hot water despite knowing it’s hot. I’m an accidental risk-taker, in other words.

For the longest time, I also didn’t have any close friends. These days it’s easier to socialize, but my “friends” growing up were movies, TV shows, books and video games. They engaged me without talking back, giving me multiple chances to figure out life-skills without the real-world consequences for getting it wrong. You can argue whether or not that’s healthy, but it was a starting point nonetheless. And nowhere was this more-apparent than animation, which stoked my imagination because it’s a medium of endless possibilities.

I had many favourite shows growing up, like Rugrats and Anamaniacs, but the one that spoke to me most was the Digimon franchise. People remember Digimon: Digital Monsters as that flash-in-the-pan that competed with the other show everyone watched, but it was escapist fantasy that was somewhat grounded in realism. The premise was fantastical, but it was the struggles of the heroes that hit home. Many shows with human protagonists focused primarily on action, but here were kids who’d routinely sit around with their digital pals, or even each other, and discuss their home-life woes: adoption anxiety, only child syndrome, divorce, sibling rivalry, and other problems that I may not have always related to, but at least could understand.

Perhaps the best part is that the human leads were so well-defined that you could pick favourites and follow their progress episodically: Tai was the hot-headed leader, Matt the stubborn loner, Sora the calming mother, Joe the insecure father, Mimi the frilly valley-girl, Izzy the socially-awkward nerd, TK the fun-loving kid, and-later-Kari the optimistic wonder-child. While later seasons added to/played with the dynamics that Digimon Adventure brought to the table, you still saw a certain level of intellectual and soulful depth that was unexpected from a series originally marketed as a companion piece for Tamagotchi.

I’ve already covered this franchise on Infinite Rainy Day in greater, unfinished detail, but I’d like to zero-in on why these shows so deeply impacted me: as I said, Digimon: Digital Monsters had human struggles that felt relatable. While its competition kept it struggles more timeless, a child watching this particular series would most-likely relate to one or more characters. Perhaps they might come from a broken family, hence gravitating to Matt? Maybe they might have a fractured relationship with a parent, hence liking Sora? Maybe they had to compete for attention with their siblings, hence relating to Joe? Or maybe their life was pretty normal and they had a big ego to tame, so Tai was their favourite?

There was always something to latch onto for everyone, and I was no different: I tended to relate to TK and his need to constantly prove himself, being the youngest of the leads for most of the show. TK was around the same age I was in 1999, and his challenges were my challenges: I was emotional, insecure and constantly felt like no one took me seriously. I wasn’t terribly strong or athletic, I was terrified of confrontation, and I frequently relied on others to solve problems for me. Given that TK’s limited growth in Digimon Adventure revolved around him learning to fend for himself, that gave me plenty of reassurance and self-confidence.

As the seasons continued, this attachment to the “one who needed to prove the most to everyone else” character kept becoming me go-to. For Digimon Zero-Two, it was Cody, followed by Ken when he started getting fleshed-out. For Digimon Tamers, it was Jeri in the end. And for Digimon Frontier, as if coming full-circle, I found an immediate likeness to Tommy, who was basically TK if he’d been fleshed-out more. Looking back, none of this was accidental: TK had to break from the shadow of his older brother, as did Ken and Tommy. Jeri’s struggle was more complicated, having to cope with grief and guilt simultaneously, but her arc was less proving herself and more not doubting her self-worth.

That’s why I kept coming back to this archetype: in addition to not having many friends and being routinely coddled, I kept feeling like I wasn’t getting anywhere. I kept feeling like I was moving slower than everyone else, learning at half the speed. Even with being the middle of three sons, I still found that my brothers were independent far faster than I was, a feeling that persists to this day. That’s not to speak of my cousins, many of whom were younger than me and still moving faster!

Attaching to TK, Cody, Ken, Jeri and Tommy was therapeutic for me. They gave me an outlet to see myself in, and they showed me, in their own ways, that my struggle was healthy and normal. They reminded me that I wasn’t alone, and that people move at different paces. If it took me a little longer, well…that was okay! I should embrace my adversity, not squander it! And even if it took me longer than most, when I finally understood what they got right away, well…maybe I understood it better!

It’s easy to look back on your childhood favourites and realize how little they hold up. Children may not be stupid, but they don’t always have the wisdom to discern quality from garbage. Many shows I liked as a kid, including the aforementioned competition, haven’t aged terribly, which is disappointing. But Digimon: Digital Monsters, while not flawless, has, in some ways, stood the test of time, and I think that’s because its themes felt so human. The shows were cheaply-made, padded and often silly, at times bordering on obnoxious, but when I can still relate to the struggles of TK, Cody, Ken, Jeri and Tommy, well…maybe they were good teachers. And maybe they taught me the right lessons after all…

Stan Lee Maher

I didn’t want to write this. There were many reasons why, but the main one was that I didn’t want to give attention to a baboon who’d flung poo at a human being. Bill Maher’s remarks about Stan Lee were calculated, deliberate and meant to incite backlash. He only said what he said because it’d give him his 15 minutes of fame, which he craves. Given that, I’d fall into his trap.

For those unaware, Stan Lee, one of comics’ biggest icons, passed away recently at the age of 95. It wasn’t unexpected, even though I secretly believed that he was a vampire who’d live forever, but given what he’d been going through with his estate, well…I was hoping he’d get the perfect revenge and outlive it all. I was wrong, but it surprised me how big an impact his death had. And not only for comic book fans, which leads me to Maher.

See, Bill Maher’s no stranger to controversy. Even as far back as when his show was cancelled for criticizing the American industrial complex, Maher’s the comedic wild card of late-night TV. Comedians, particularly political satirists, routinely take flak for pushing boundaries, but Maher openly incites for the sake of it time and time again. Lately, he’s even gotten himself in trouble for using the N-word, to which he’s apologized, and for criticizing Hari Kondabolu’s issues with Apu Nahasapeemapetilon from The Simpsons, to which he’s yet to apologize. Given how various minority groups have taken issue with Maher for years, you have to wonder why this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

But I digress. In a recent blog post, Maher openly attacked Stan Lee’s legacy. I can’t find the original post, since it’s now buried under the backlash, but based on this source it doesn’t appear to be in good taste:

“‘The guy who created Spider-Man and the Hulk has died, and America is in mourning,’ Maher’s blog post began. ‘Deep, deep mourning for a man who inspired millions to, I don’t know, watch a movie, I guess.’”

This is already not a good look, but the remarks don’t end there. Maher went on to state that people “only pretended comic books were actually sophisticated literature”, and that he “[didn’t] think it’s a huge stretch to suggest that Donald Trump could only get elected in a country that thinks comic books are important.” Ignoring how comics are bigger in Japan than here, making his claim potentially racist, conflating comics with Trump does a huge disservice to the real reason Trump was elected (which isn’t even relevant to this conversation.) Regardless, Maher’s words weren’t received well by anyone, such that Marvel also rebutted his claim.

Personally, I take issue with this for two reasons: first, this isn’t the worst-remark Maher’s made about…well, anything. Like I said, Maher’s gotten plenty of heat for claims ranging from using the N-word, to mocking people’s issues with Apu, to even demanding that Senator Al Franken return to politics after being outed as a sexual predator. Maher being a jerk is nothing new, so why’s he only being trashed now? Like Andrew Tate and his tone-deaf stance on anime, there’s plenty to be mad about that doesn’t involve Stan Lee’s legacy.

The second reason is a direct response to Maher himself: what gives? What authority do you, an out-of-touch comedian who hasn’t been socially relevant in years, have to crap on a man who’s done far more good for the world? Keep in mind that Stan Lee, while a comics creator, was also one of comics’ first advocates for social justice. Lee grew up when Jews were seen as “the other” by many people in the West. He came from humble origins and worked his way up the ranks of Timely Comics. He didn’t even get his big-break with until 1961, when he was 39. Lee saw many harsh injustices during his life, and he made sure to tackle them with his superheroes.

I’m not joking: together with Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko, both legends in their own rights, Lee would go on to reinvent the wheel and make his supers as human as they were progressive: Spider-Man wasn’t simply created to fill a void of teenaged superheroes as front-liners, he was also a conflicted individual who routinely struggled to pay rent, sucked at dating and was socially-outcast. The X-Men didn’t only fight crime, they also had to fight politicians and society for acceptance of their mutations. And The Fantastic Four, Marvel’s first creation under Lee’s management, was the original, dysfunctional family, constantly bickering about chores, responsibilities and whether or not their powers were a blessing or a curse.

It didn’t end there! In addition to also co-creating Black Panther, one of comics’ earliest minority superheroes, Lee liked to read fan mail and routinely update his readers via columns at the end of his issues. To many kids in the 60’s and 70’s, Lee was more than “the guy who wrote your favourite comics”. He was a friend, a mentor and a member of the family. Factor in how personable he was, even in his later years, and he really did feel like the comic book industry’s Mr. Rogers.

Which is why Maher’s comments are so tone-deaf. Ignoring his remarks on comics themselves, he’s openly trashing a man who did a lot of good. Lee wasn’t a shady politician or some faceless businessman, he was a guy who, like many people, recognized the responsibility that came with being a celebrity. He was the genuine article, and gaslighting that for a quick laugh is cold and heartless.

It’s not like you can’t find flaws with Lee, because every legend has weak spots: Mr. Rogers didn’t publicly acknowledge his best-friend’s homosexuality until his later years. Steven Spielberg once joked about Indiana Jones being a pedophile. Even Roger Ebert, arguably the greatest film critic ever, once got into trouble for stating that video games “can’t be art” (something he apologized for.) In the case of Stan Lee, perhaps overshadowing the legacies of Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko, both of whom predeceased him, was a fatal flaw. If that’s the case, then it doesn’t make him less-impactful, but rather more human.

That’s why Maher’s words hurt so much: because Lee was an awesome human being. I’m not saying that because I look forward to his cameos in Marvel projects, I’m saying that because it’s true. And while some of his fans have become self-entitled pricks who’ve missed the intent of his work, there’s no denying the impact he’s left on pop-culture.

You don’t have to like comic books. You don’t even have to like comic book movies. Lord knows there’ve been plenty of awful examples of both! And despite the numerous times I’ve defended The MCU, I recognize that they’re not for everyone. But I won’t stand for Bill Maher shamelessly farting on Stan Lee’s legacy. If he has a problem with him, that’s fine, but he could stand to show more tact.

Then again, I doubt he cares, so who am I kidding here?

"Lucasing", or "Artists Gone Wrong"

The creative experience is often most-brutal once the creation’s finished. For one, you’re putting yourself out there, which makes you vulnerable. But two, often artists feel like their work’s incomplete because they’re so attached, something that gets worse with time. It gets so bad that, in many instances, the artist will go back and either “expand” or “improve” on their work. It’s gruelling, thankless and often annoying, ruining the original experience by making it too continuity heavy. And it insults the fans.

I’m seeing a lot of this now. Initially, it was only George Lucas tinkering with Star Wars, tweaking details in the original films that didn’t need it and unnecessarily-expanding on the lore with the prequels. This is how the concept became known as “Lucasing”, but while it wasn’t unique to Lucas, JRR Tolkien re-wrote The Hobbit in his later years to better-fit with the Lord of the Rings books, it’s really only taken off in the last few years. Or maybe it only feels that way because it’s impacted some of my favourite franchises.

Take The Hobbit. When it was announced that a certain, famous film trilogy would be getting a prequel trilogy based on this book, fans, myself included, were excited; after all, The Hobbit’s one of my favourite books, and I was anxious to see its best scenes on the big screen. Think about it: Bilbo and Gollum exchanging riddles! The story Gandalf tells to Beorn about the dwarves! The confrontation with Smaug! So much was begging for a cinematic treatment, and given how far technology had progressed…

I know it was unrealistic to get my hopes up, especially considering the numerous behind-the-scenes complications, but I was incredibly-disappointed by the end-result. Not because it was awful, because it wasn’t. And not because there wasn’t enjoyability to be had, because there was. Rather, it was because the movies felt like big-screen video games. Considering that the actual video game based on the book, aka The Hobbit, had already covered the same material in an engaging manner, the films also felt extraneous.

I’m not kidding when I say that, either: the scene where Bilbo and the dwarves float down the river could’ve come from a Donkey Kong Country game, while the confrontation with Smaug was so laughably-silly that I’d have been remiss to think of the Spyro the Dragon franchise. Even the final battle, which was more of an afterthought in the book, felt too video game-y for its own good, such that I was expecting an enemy counter to appear on the top-right corner of the screen.

I think the reason for why The Hobbit films felt overly-zany was because Peter Jackson and company didn’t care. The books that the Lord of the Rings films were based on were often dense and padded, but there was enough to stretch out for three films. The Hobbit, on the other hand, was a single, short book. It may have been dense and padded too, but it didn’t have enough content for three films. Maybe a 3-hour film, or two 90-minute films, but not three. And Jackson knew this, hence filling in the cracks with nonsense.

This really bothered me. I didn’t need to know that The Necromancer was “Sauron in disguise”, and how the films resolved that contradicts what happens in the Lord of the Rings films. I also didn’t care for the subplot between Thorin and the leader of the orcs, since it felt like filler. Also, the romance with Kili and Tauriel? An admirable attempt to flesh-out an admittedly-bland character in the book, but it felt empty. These kinds of details made for shameless additions, ruined an otherwise serviceable story and left little to the imagination. And they were the worst parts of the films.

But the most-egregious offender right now is JK Rowling. For those unaware, I love the Harry Potter books and movies. I love them so much, in fact, that they were the springboard for a rant that I wrote two years ago. I think Rowling’s a brilliant writer, which is why it pains me that she can’t leave her creation alone. If you don’t believe me, here are some examples of how Rowling’s gotten herself into hot water:

Shortly after writing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, JK Rowling was asked if Albus Dumbledore had a romantic interest in his youth. To this, Rowling responded that he was gay, verbally retconning details in the books that contradicted this. If it seemed like a last-minute attempt to placate to queer readers, well…it gets worse. Rowling, who was the executive producer of the Harry Potter films, made sure any future entries downplayed Dumbledore’s love-life and kept his sexuality open, to the point of confirming that Dumbledore was, in fact, gay and had had a romantic relationship with in-universe villain Gillert Grindelwald. Fast-forward to the unnecessary Fantastic Beasts movies, and Dumbledore’s gayness was erased entirely. Did Rowling have a change of heart?

A few years back, Rowling was asked by a Jewish fan if Hogwarts, an inherently Christian school, had a Jewish witch or wizard attending it. Instead of answering “no, I didn’t think about that at the time”, she made up a Jewish wizard named Anthony Goldstein. A neat idea in theory, but why didn’t we see overt mentions of this before? The Fantastic Beasts movies had Tina and Queenie Goldstein, but they feel like damage control.

Speaking of Tina and Queenie, there’s the North American wizarding school, Ilvermorny. I can’t say much about Ilvermorny, having never visited Pottermore, but I know that Native American fans of Harry Potter have taken issue with this addition. Also, why is there only one wizarding school in all of North America? The continent proper might only have three countries, Canada, The US and Mexico, but those countries are huge and incredibly-diverse! You’d think Rowling would understand this, but nope!

On the subject of not understanding, Rowling’s most-recent retcon is making Nagini, Voldemort’s pet, a Maledictus who started off as an Asian circus performer. Not only is this unnecessary and confusing, it also plays into a racist trope called “the subservient Asian”. It robs Nagini of her agency, so making this part of the Harry Potter mythos without first consulting Asian communities is another stain on Rowling’s legacy.

Of course, there are other changes that test fans’ limits. Rowling’s insistence that Harry would be against BDS, while noble in theory, comes off as shameless pandering to Jewish fans, with her reasoning feeling more so. Her insistence that Ron and Hermione would’ve “needed couples’ therapy” to stay together feels like slap in the face to the books, while her vague claim that “Hermione might’ve been black”, true or not, has often felt like it was cheap bait for her black fans. All these wishy-washy additions come off as pandering, and even bigoted, fan-service, and having them then be changed or altered on a whim is worse. It’s as if, in trying to stay relevant, Rowling has become that “out of touch granny who embarrasses her grandchildren while trying to be hip”, and it shows.

I’m not against world-building on pre-existing franchises if done well. The Avatar Wan episodes of Avatar: The Legend of Korra have accomplished that, as have Disney via Star Wars. Franchise-building, when utilized successfully, can enhance the overall experience, but it needs to work while still leaving certain elements up to the imagination. And Lucasing your own creation definitely doesn’t help matters.

But this is the world that we live in now, so…

Smash Reflections: Sm4sh

(Part 1 can be found here.)

(Part 2 can be found here.)

(Part 3 can be found here.)

How do you follow-up on a successful third-entry in a franchise that constantly expands on its predecessors? This was the challenge Masahiro Sakurai faced when designing a successor to Super Smash Bros. Brawl; after all, each of the respective entries kept taking the end-result to unique places. There was little else to do at this point that hadn’t been done, but the clock was ticking and people were getting antsy. So Sakurai went forward and started development on a sequel worthy of the Smash Bros. name anyway. And he did so by making two radical decisions.

The first was Sakurai teaming up with Namco Bandai as co-developers. In the past, Sakurai had taken inspiration from Namco’s arcade games, particularly 1995’s The Outfoxies, for his gameplay mechanics in Super Smash Bros. So it figured that, in an ironic full-circle, Sakurai was now approaching Namco Bandai for help, incorporating arcade-like sensibilities into the gameplay. An interesting choice, to say the least.

The other decision was less-dramatic, but equally as interesting: multi-platform appeal. Nintendo was no stranger to console/handheld game interactions, but this marked the first time a Smash Bros. game would be available on both of Nintendo’s next-generation offerings: Sm4sh, as the game would be nicknamed, would have a slightly watered-down 3DS version in late-2014, followed by a more expanded companion game for the WiiU a few weeks later. And the two games would have cross-play, making it necessary to own both in order to unlock everything. It was the Pokémon games approach in Smash Bros. form, essentially.

Sm4sh remains the most-interesting of the Smash Bros. games personally. It’s the most-recent entry in the franchise, so it, naturally, has the least amount of nostalgia tied to it. I didn’t even buy it right away, waiting until I owned a WiiU in late-2016. I also don’t own a 3DS, hence my memories reside almost-exclusively with Super Smash Bros. WiiU. So if my reflections this time feel rushed and short, blame that.

My first exposure to Sm4sh was a series of commercials that played before movies in 2014. Cineplex was known for partnering with Nintendo Canada, and these ads were easily their most-bizarre. The premise was simple: two parties would bicker over something trivial, be it who does the dishes, take-out or sit-in, or even who gets the last remaining spot on the bus. The resolution to these disputes would be to whip out their 3DSes and “settle it in Smash!”. The screen would then show a competitive fight that’d last several seconds, before ending with a winner. Rinse-and-repeat:

One such a commercial. Cute, no? (Courtesy of GameNewsOfficial.)

Of course, the WiiU version had its own commercials, but the 3DS’s versions are the ones that stick out more. Ironic, considering I’d, like I said, end up buying the WiiU port. And it was worth it, with Super Smash Bros. WiiU being my favourite WiiU game next to the long-awaited Pikmin 3. People who know me know I’m a sucker for Mario games, so to hear that come from my mouth? It’s surprising. But it’s true: this really is my favourite WiiU game.

The most-notable quirk of Super Smash Bros. WiiU is how arcade-like it is. I mean this in both its interface and its game mechanics, with characters hitting the screen on occasion instead of simply falling to their doom or flying off into the distance. Even the more streamlined gameplay modes feel arcade-y, and I credit the Namco Bandai influence. And with due cause, as that was probably the best option to contrast the hardened, gritty feel of the game’s predecessor.

The online mode was also vastly-improved. As much of a novelty as it was in 2008, Super Smash Bros. Brawl’s online was hot garbage. It routinely disconnected and lagged, which was unacceptable even when juxtaposed with the Xbox 360 and the PS3. Super Smash Bros. WiiU, while not perfect, was a drastic improvement, thanks in-part to the console utilizing Wi-Fi functionality. It also streamlined the game’s co-op options, making them more user-friendly.

I also like how the game included an even greater roster. Prior games kept upping the available characters, but this one allowed for well-over 50 fighters (including downloadable ones and the custom Mii fighters.) Additionally, the game allowed for Amiibo, weird collectibles that could be bought separately for in-game usage, which was a nice touch. And, true to what Super Smash Bros. Brawl had started, the game’s roster upped the third-party inclusions, with Pac-Man and Mega Man (and later Bayonetta, via DLC) joining Solid Snake and Sonic the Hedgehog. I’m not fond of how many of these characters are unlocked, but we’ll cover that later.

The game had various controller options that were also utilized efficiently. You had the Wiimotes, obviously, and the Gamecube controllers, also obviously, but now you could utilize 3DSes as controllers. Perhaps the coolest one was the WiiU gamepad, that giant tablet that doubled as a controller, as Player 1. I can’t begin to tell you how convenient that gamepad was while my family was watching TV in the rec room, or even not being distracted by my friends on the TV screen when they were present. Add in that 8-player gameplay was now possible, and you had a recipe for a full-out brawl not possible in 1999!

This wasn’t to say the game was flawless, however. Ignoring that my limited imagination still made my Custom Builder stages lame, unlocking additional fighters wasn’t all that creative this time around. It was like Sakurai and team had looked at how incredibly-easy it was to unlock fighters via The Subspace Emissary, realized that it ruined half the fun, and decided to slap on some compensatory fanservice at the last-second. Character unlocks require a certain number of matches, and they’re all variables of 10. It’s boring, predictable and incredibly-repetitive, something which pains me to say.

The stage unlockables aren’t any better. You get them by playing simple Event Matches, which are also pretty lame, and they don’t feel earned. Where’s that sense of exploration? Where’s that sense of satisfaction? Gone was the excitement of games prior.

One final complaint is that stage options were more limited when playing with 8 fighters. And some of the options were repeats of other stages on a grander scale. I fail to understand why there can’t be more stages available for 8-players, but it’s not too big a loss. Especially when you have the option to record fights and play them back later as case studies.

Regardless, Sm4sh, more-specifically Super Smash Bros. WiiU, is a lot of fun to play solo or with friends. Is it as ground-breaking as the entries that’ve preceded it? No. It doesn’t even have that great an opening theme in comparison, a fact it acknowledges by having the previous games’ themes as optional themes for the in-game menu. But could it have been anyway? The Smash Bros. franchise had already made massive strides content-wise in the past, and all this game needed was to be a solid follow-up. Here’s hoping Super Smash Bros. Ultimate remedies that in early-December, but for now…well, I’ll take what we got.

And there you have it: my Smash Bros. retrospective. It was fun taking a trip down memory lane, and I look forward to what the franchise brings next. In the meantime, we’ll have to wait for Super Smash Bros. Ultimate…

Smash Reflections: Super Smash Bros. Brawl

(Part 1 can be found here.)

(Part 2 can be found here.)

At E3 2005, Nintendo announced their latest console. Dubbed “The Nintendo Revolution”, the console featured wireless controllers and an interface that focused on interactive gameplay. Several titles were announced as possibilities, but key amongst them was a Smash Bros. game. This news surprised Masahiro Sakurai, who wasn’t kept in-the-loop about this, but he went to work on the game shortly afterward. The one condition Sakurai had was that this next entry would be his baby, with him having complete control over the finished project. Nintendo granted him that request, but due to Sakurai’s ambitions, the game, later dubbed Super Smash Bros. Brawl, kept getting delayed, until it released in early-2008 for the Wii.

Despite this, the game received immense hype. This was further compounded by The Smash Bros. Dojo, a site that frequently provided updates on the game’s progress. I remember sitting at my computer every day after school, clicking on the site and checking to see the latest development. Whether it was a character introduction, a stage announcement, or even a sound clip, Super Smash Bros. Brawl would be the biggest and most-epic Smash Bros. game in history! There was no way it’d disappoint, right?

Confession time: my thoughts on Super Smash Bros. Brawl have come full-circle in the years since its release. Initially, I was pumped, thinking it’d be the best game ever. As the hype faded, however, disappointment kicked in, and I started to notice, or over-notice, its flaws. It was only once I realized how toxic the gaming community’s reactions were toward it that I started appreciating it more, and it became a favourite again. Even now, 10 years later, I still have immense respect for the game.

The most-obvious upgrade was the visuals. Super Smash Bros. Melee was a clear improvement over the original game’s low-polygon count, but this game really upped the ante. Everything looked crisp and detailed, with an attention to detail normally found in modern-Final Fantasy. Additionally, the game also had a gritty, lived-in feel, with many of the characters looking somewhat edgy. It was unique to the franchise at the time, and it still is now.

Perhaps the best showcase of the visual enhancement was its opening cinematic. If Super Smash Bros. felt like a stage play and Super Smash Bros. Melee a short film, then Super Smash Bros. Brawl was the equivalent of going to the opera. Not only was the opening cinematic, but it had full-on orchestrations and a choir singing in Latin. Some might even call it excessive, given how this was a fighting game and not a grand epic. Then again, when you have Nobuo Uematsu composing, you have to let him do what he does best:

The intro feels like a Final Fantasy game, no? (Courtesy of Alfonso’s ALT.)

The story-heavy feel of this opening linked to the game’s newest feature, a fleshed-out, single-player campaign dubbed “The Subspace Emissary”. This was quite unique to the franchise at the time, feeling like the Adventure Mode from Super Smash Bros. Melee that Sakurai had wanted for years. Here, however, he had full reign to do as he wished, and The Subspace Emissary was its own beast. I know fans are divided on it, especially since it unlocks all of the characters without having to earn them, but I liked it.

On the subject of divisive, Super Smash Bros. Brawl slowed down the fighting mechanics quite a bit. Whereas Super Smash Bros. Melee played fast and slippery, Super Smash Bros. Brawl played slow and floaty. The game was clearly designed with casual gamers in mind, and-between that and “tripping”-that polarized competitive gamers. It polarized them to the point where a modified version of the game, dubbed Project M, was created to “fix” everything.

This is where I started drifting away from hardcore gamers. I’d grown up on the Smash Bros. games, having played the original when I was 9, but I was never a “pro”. I was decent with Kirby, but Kirby’s not exactly the best fighter. The fact that I stood a chance against a pro in Super Smash Bros. Brawl made me feel a lot better, but it also got me into many pointless fights whenever I opened my mouth. 6 years before GamerGate took off, I was experiencing doses of gaming toxicity in the numerous debates I was having over the quality of Super Smash Bros. Brawl’s game mechanics.

It wasn’t all bad, though! For one, online functionality was finally an option. Sure, it was laggy, slow and had a tendency to disconnect without warning, but it allowed for me to test out my endurance with strangers. Or friends, as I became “Brawl buddies” with someone in my Grade 12 English class. The online was flawed, and future games would only improve on it, but it was a step in the right direction.

Speaking of “steps in the right direction”, Super Smash Bros. Brawl also introduced a custom stage maker. This allowed me, within reason, to create new stages to fight in, and I took full advantage. Unfortunately, my ability to build stages was embarrassing, and the end-results were archaic and lacklustre. But at least my best creation, a level consisting entirely of springs, was fun in an annoying kind of way!

As a final kudos, Super Smash Bros. Brawl introduced two staples that’d become mainstays in future entries. The first was the option of using Gamecube controllers instead of Wiimotes. This was great because the latter didn’t feel as natural as the former for a game like this. It also extended the half-life of my Gamecube controllers long after the Gamecube was discontinued, a plus considering how expensive they are online these days. And it helped to remind me of the franchise’s humbler origins.

The second was the game’s introduction of specialty items. These included the Final Smash, the Dragoon (which came in 3 pieces) and the Assist Trophy. The items allowed for varied gameplay, as they were all about racing to get to them first. Were they sometimes cheap? Maybe, but they were also lots of fun.

It’s tough figuring out if Super Smash Bros. Brawl is overrated, or really that good. People have been arguing this for 10 years, with passionate fans on both sides. Personally, though, I happen to love it. It’s not perfect, but neither was Super Smash Bros. Melee. And if people really love that entry, then why can’t I love this one?

Of course, there’s also the sequel, but, as always, that’s for next time…

Smash Reflections: Super Smash Bros. Melee

(Part 1 can be found here.)

With a surprise hit in the form of Super Smash Bros., Nintendo knew they’d have to follow it up for their next console. The 6th generation was well-underway by the year 2000, and Nintendo was incredibly self-conscious about their now 4 year-old N64 hardware. They needed a dazzler, and come Space World 2000 they had something ready to demo. Amongst the offerings for the then-Dolphin were a tech-demo of Link and Ganondorf duking it out, a prototype for Pikmin dubbed Super Mario 128, and an almost-completed Kirby’s Air Ride, which was originally an N64 hopeful.

But it was the announcement of a sequel to Super Smash Bros. that really got fans excited. Slated for a Christmas window the following year, the game, Super Smash Bros. Melee, was to be everything the original was, but better. Masahiro Sakurai and his team were given an enhanced budget, but only 13 months to develop. Despite the impossible, the game released mere weeks after the Dolphin, now known as the Gamecube, launched in North America in 2001. To say that it was the biggest hit of that season is an understatement, as Super Smash Bros. Melee helped keep the Gamecube alive in its troubled, 5 year run.

I first saw the game at a carpool buddy’s house in late-2001. I’d recently switched schools because of my learning disability, and with that came a new set of expectations, teachers and carpool schedules. While most of the week was typical, Friday afternoons, because of my Sabbath, were the wildcard, and I usually ended up waiting at someone’s house after school. It was there that I was introduced to new friends, the Gamecube and, of course, Super Smash Bros. Melee. It looked similar to its predecessor, but better, and I immediately became a fan.

It sounds hipster to say this, but I was a fan of Super Smash Bros. Melee in my immediate circles before everyone else. Even my cousin didn’t get the game until months later, which gave me bragging rights. I kept boasting about how good I was at the game, only to be let-down when he eventually won a single match. I put up a pretty good fight as Kirby, but I learned a valuable lesson that day.

One of the more-interesting moments was trying to convince my brothers of the game’s pronunciation. “Melee” is a French word for “battle”, but its correct pronunciation is “Mah-lay”. Or was it “May-lay”? We kept bickering until the game’s commercial set everything straight: it was “Mee-lee”, which made absolutely no sense. Regardless, I rolled with it.

Another interesting feature that I took note of was its opening cinematic. The original game had one as well, but it felt more like a stage play introduction. It was a montage of the game’s 8 initial characters, set to limited-yet-impressive music, and it felt like that. Super Smash Bros. Melee, however, was a completely different beast, with an opening that, to-date, remains my favourite:

They’re not hiding anything, are they? (Courtesy of fredfredfred.)

The best part about the opening, aside from being really well-made, is it introducing me to two characters I wasn’t already familiar with: there’s an Inuit couple? Or are they siblings? What’s the deal with them? Popo and Nana, as I came to find out, were from the NES classic Ice Climber, long-forgotten about for almost 20 years. They weren’t the only new additions, Marth and Roy helped pave way for the Fire Emblem series in North America, but they were the ones that piqued my interest the most.

Super Smash Bros. Melee expanded on everything the original had to offer: it doubled the fighting roster, had more unlockables and introduced new modes that were integral to 100% completion. Event Matches were skill-based, forcing you to complete objectives that progressively got harder, while Home Run Contest gave you something to vent your frustrations with. Then there were modes like Multi-Man Melee, which was an endurance test, All-Star Mode, where you faced-off against every fighter on three recovery hearts, and Trophy Mode, which was a machine that won you trophies. But the biggest addition to single-player was Adventure Mode, serving as a tour of the fighters’ worlds with occasional platforming segments. It’s not as advanced as future games’ story modes, and it’s a tad repetitive, but it was still lots of fun. It also compensated for the slightly-diminished Classic Mode, a returning feature from the first game.

Yet the bread-and-butter was its multiplayer component. Not only were the roster and options expanded, but there was a Tournament Mode that’s become a favourite for competitive gamers. The latter has even helped to extend the half-life of the game’s popularity post-Gamecube!

Looking back on the game, however, it’s easy to see cracks in its armour. Super Smash Bros. Melee, while fun, isn’t perfect, with numerous in-game glitches that make it easily exploitable and not as fun for a casual gamer. Wave Dashing and L-Cancelling, while neat, feel like the parkour tricks in Prince of Persia: The Sands of Time: great if you can figure them out, but unnecessary for a full-experience and frustrating when exploited. As someone who likes the Smash Bros. games and hated the unfair combos in the Mortal Kombat franchise, these glitches also felt like the game was mocking me.

Also, I really hate Event Match 51. It’s necessary to unlock Final Destination as a playable arena, but it feels like the game is purposely trolling me for being unable to beat Giga Bowser and his goons. I’ve used every character, even Jigglypuff and her Rest move, but I’ve given up trying, as have my brothers. I’ve so given up, in fact, that when the next game in the series was released, it tweaked the fight so much that I was disappointed when I beat it so quickly.

Super Smash Bros. Melee also has instances where it feels like it could’ve been better. Adventure Mode retreads the same formula with slight modifications for unlockable characters, and it feels like Sakurai wanted more time to expand on its potential. Classic Mode returns, but feels slightly less-special. The game also has “clones” of starting characters, and Mr. Game-and-Watch feels incomplete (his Shield, for example, doesn’t cover him fully.) And the game also has looser controls than I’d have hoped, with characters moving too fast for an inexperienced gamer to compete with a pro.

Also, side-note, the game lacks an online feature. But that’s hindsight talking.

Super Smash Bros. Melee feels the most “hardcore” of all the entries in the franchise. That’s not to say that it’s bad, quite the opposite, but it feels like it was made under a time-crunch. A lot of little features feel incomplete or wonky, and while that makes it unpredictable, it’s also aged less gracefully than its direct predecessor. Then again, part of me is saying that because the hardcore gaming scene drives me crazy, and I can’t pass up an opportunity to roast them.

In the end, a fine entry that expanded on the previous game. It’s too bad the next entry was so divisive, but that’s for next time…

Smash Reflections: Super Smash Bros.

The year was 1998. The Nintendo 64 was struggling to compete with its direct rival, Sony’s Playstation. And HAL Laboratory’s most-famous programmer, a then 28 year-old Masahiro Sakurai, was working on a fighting game for the console. Initially, Sakurai pitched it as a Namco-style arcade fighter, dubbed Kakuto-Geemu Ryouh, only to have it rejected by the higher-ups at Nintendo. Desperate to have his idea gain traction, Sakurai reworked it from the ground-up in less than a year, added Nintendo characters and pitched it once again.

It’s no surprise that Super Smash Bros. would become a hit, as it had all the trademarks of a classic game: a simple, easy-to-use roster. Basic, well-constructed stages that are fun to revisit. 4-player capabilities, then a novelty exclusive to the N64. A story mode that doubled as a semi-tutorial for how to play the game. Unlockables that allowed for multiple play-throughs of said story mode. And, most-importantly, fun gameplay.

All of the above gave Super Smash Bros. a certain degree of Nintendo polish in spite of its bare-bones aesthetic. N64 games in general haven’t aged all that gracefully, with a few exceptions, but they pushed the limits of what the console was capable of. Super Smash Bros., even by N64-standards, was pretty low-end, such that 9 year-old me thought the game was designed using cardboard cut-outs. That it didn’t end up mattering was proof that even a cheaply-made, rushed product could be good if everyone involved in its creation cared about it.

It helped that Super Smash Bros. had an excellent ad campaign in North America. This was apparent in its wacky promo, which, to this day, is one of the best ads Nintendo’s ever put on TV:

Dat Pikachu, tho… (Courtesy of PSNDarKnight01.)

I could go on about why this is a great commercial, but that wouldn’t do it justice. Especially since the intro’s been covered before by me on Infinite Rainy Day. No, instead I’d like to share my experience with the game, and its sequels, in honour of Super Smash Bros. Ultimate, as well as how they’ve shaped my childhood, adolescence and adulthood.

I first discovered Super Smash Bros. at the same place I discovered most N64 games: my neighbour across the street’s house. Having kids who were quite a bit older than everyone else on the block, they usually had the coolest toys first, and that included video games. But while I’d usually be present with them when they’d play their newest N64 games, here I only had exposure to the game because I was shirking my responsibilities to the house’s owners: I was supposed to be looking after their golden retriever, but when playing with a hyperactive puppy got boring I started exploring the house for something to do. I eventually made my way upstairs to one of the bedrooms, where I noticed their N64 tucked away with a TV and an unfamiliar-looking game top-loaded in the console.

Sufficed to say, it quickly become one of my favourite N64 games.

I have many subsequent memories of Super Smash Bros. in the years to follow. For one, two of my cousins had N64s, and I’d spend many occasions playing the game with them. And two, my next-door-neighbour had the game as well, and I even got to play it at his house during his 10th birthday celebration. Super Smash Bros., while technically a fighting game, was, at its heart, the perfect party game, so it made sense that I’d routinely return to it. Even my dentist’s office had the game, which was a great way to pass the time and a frustrating experience for my mother when she had to drag me away from it.

I even developed short-hands for experiencing the game more-efficiently. Everyone had a favourite fighter, and mine was Kirby. To this day, I’ve used the pink creampuff enough to know his entire move-set by heart: B allows Kirby to inhale enemies, which could be copied with A. Down + B in midair allows Kirby to turn into a brick. A + Up repeatedly allows Kirby to float in the air. Up + B activates Kirby’s sword. Even holding Z and grabbing an enemy allows you to flip them and do immense damage. I’ve become so experienced with Kirby that, to-date, I still use him as my go-to character in every entry.

Speaking of, Super Smash Bros. succeeded because its character variety. The original game had 12 fighters, 8 from the get-go, and they were all pretty well-balanced. You could pick a favourite, familiarize yourself with their moves and become a pro in relatively-little time. The game was practically made for me because of its simplicity, and I can’t say that for other fighting franchises.

The game also allowed you to unlock special characters and stages via in-game objectives. These days, it’s easy to figure out how to 100% a game because of the internet, but back in the late-90’s/early-2000’s this wasn’t a luxury I had available to me. The limitations of the world wide web had forced me to go by word-of-mouth and trust others with how to unlock characters/stages, which made doing so surprising. I still remember figuring out how to unlock Ness and Captain Falcon, let-alone The Mushroom Kingdom stage. The joy that brought to me was priceless.

Super Smash Bros. was a crucial step in the evolution of console fighting games. Whereas most fighting games prior utilized a “deplete your opponent’s health” formula, the Smash Bros. franchise broke tradition by making the gameplay free-for-all. You didn’t deplete health, you added to percentage bars. You didn’t knock out your opponent, you knocked them off the screen. Whether it was a timer or stocks, the unique ways that the game kicked fighting game traditions in the face, even utilizing items from various Nintendo franchises, was refreshing. We take it for granted now, but this was huge in 1999!

Ultimately, the game’s ability to party-up the fighting genre has given it legs. Whether it’s a quick round with your buddies, or a drunken match of endurance, there’s no competition for the Smash Bros. games. Not that other games haven’t tried, Power Stone for the Dreamcast came close, but none have outcompeted Nintendo’s juggernaut. Like the Game Boy and the handheld market, Nintendo was king, and they’d continue to be king with its sequel on the Gamecube.

But that’s for next time…