David Sheff - Game Over lyrics

Most people think video games are kids' stuff, and it is true that in "Super Mario Bros. 3," mushrooms give super strength, enemies have names such as Morton Koopa, Jr., and a pudgy, suspendered hero jumps on the heads of Little Goombas. Yet behind "Super Mario Bros. 3," a video game played on the Nintendo Entertainment System (NES), is a business that is very grown-up indeed. In America alone, revenues for that one game have topped $500 million; in the field of entertainment, only the movie ET has grossed more. In the video-game market, where shooting and ma** destruction were the norm, the first "Super Mario Bros." game created a revolution in 1985 by introducing elements not often a**ociated with computer terminals and controllers: wit and humor. Mario, the main character, made an unlikely hero—a plumber who can wisely choose to avoid enemies as well as to confront them. In this whimsical world, bright green and red mushrooms make Mario grow taller and more powerful. There are bomb-hurling mice, waltzing cacti, and turtles who can use their shells as missiles. Surprises that give players more time and extra lives lurk in the most unlikely places. Children, who loved the characters and be came ensnared in the maze of the game, which was replete with Pavlovian rewards and punishments and carefully programmed in creases in challenge, were captivated. When "Super Mario Bros. 2" was released, the beloved characters from the original game trekked through new cartoon scenery. This time they confronted foes not with cannon or lasers but with turnips, carrots, and pumpkins. Thus equipped, players headed into uncharted waters, where perseverance, wit, luck, and interminable hours of practice counted for everything. "Super Mario 2," like its predecessor, was a great equalizer. The game gave kids the sort of power they couldn't get anywhere else. It was safe for them to make mistakes while playing, because there was always another chance. The things that ordinarily made kids popular at school were not important when they were playing. Also, they had found an arena in which they could beat the pants off their parents, not to mention confound them with an incomprehensible vernacular ("I'm in the second world of the Sub-Con, but I can't get past the miniboss"). Months before it appeared on the market, there were rumors about the next "Super Mario Bros." sequel, but no one saw it until, in the winter of 1989, a movie hit the nation's theaters. The Wizard was less a piece of art than a one-hundred-minute advertisement for Nintendo that millions of families paid to see (it grossed $14 million). The excitement in movie theaters was palpable when kids realized they were glimpsing the latest Mario game, complete with new bells and whistles: Mario could don a raccoon disguise and— best—could fly. Kids spread the word on playgrounds and in schools. Legions of parents were strong-armed by eight-year-olds. The pressure was enormous to be among the first to own "Super Mario Bros. 3." Some parents remained oblivious and others refused to bend to the pressure, but many millions succumbed. "Super Mario Bros. 3" would sell more copies than any video game in history—7 million in the United States and 4 million in Japan. By record-industry standards, "SMB3" went platinum eleven times. Michael Jackson is one of the few artists to have accomplished that feat.