The Case Against Super Mario Galaxy

On June 2, 2009, during their E3 press conference, Nintendo officially announced the sequel to what has surely become the most widely beloved Wii game so far: Super Mario Galaxy. The trailer that was shown seemed to confirm everyone’s hopes for what such a sequel would be like: more of the same, but with some new elements introduced, such as being able to ride Yoshi, who was prominently featured in the trailer. I have just one question, though. Why does anyone want another game like Galaxy? For that matter, why did so many people fall in love with the original? Numerous video game journalists sang its praises in reviews, and several web sites named it as their Wii Game of 2007, if not their Overall Game of 2007. Fan response has been much the same, with very few dissenting voices present. As of now, it is one of the most critically acclaimed games of all time, according to at least one aggregate review site, metacritic.com. I, however, am genuinely unable to understand why so many were enthralled with it. In this essay, I will detail what I perceive to be Galaxy’s main problems and relate these issues to how they were treated by the majority of video game journalists who reviewed the game.

Before I begin, I must establish that I have nothing to say against Galaxy’s controls, graphics, sound, music, story, or any other similar element. Rather, my sole point of focus is Galaxy’s fundamental system of gameplay and the satisfaction that is derived from proceeding through that system of gameplay (that is to say, how fun it is to play through the game).

Many critics gleefully assured readers that Galaxy really was the “spiritual sequel” to Mario 64, which everyone had long been anticipating after being so soundly disappointed by Sunshine. They wrote such statements as “it is Super Mario 64 in outer space,” or “this is a straightforward spiritual successor to the N64 classic.” However, any close examination of these two games, as well as Sunshine, proves such sentiments to be patently and blatantly false. Mario 64’s core gameplay was based on the concept of exploring three-dimensional worlds (which, though finite, were still large enough to give players a sense of enjoyment through exploration and discovery) and completing challenges and fulfilling requirements to attain stars. Sunshine retained this basic model, albeit changing it slightly by giving Mario a water pack that allowed him to hover in the air for a few seconds. Galaxy, however, regardless of how many reviewers claim the opposite, almost completely dismisses the mechanic of exploration in favor of linearity. In Galaxy, the vast majority of gameplay revolves around circumnavigating rather small planetoids and, as before, completing challenges and fulfilling requirements so that Mario can travel to the next small planetoid and then repeat the process until he gets a star. Exploration as a core gameplay mechanic is almost completely nonexistent. Interestingly enough, before Galaxy’s release, at least some reviewers seemed concerned about the possible limitations of the fundamental gameplay system I just described. Strangely, though, after the game came out, all such qualms had seemingly vanished. Based on the content of multiple reviews, this most likely happened for two reasons.

First, because of the inclusion of some gameplay environments that were not just little spheres, many critics felt that their fears of limited environments had been alleviated and said as much in their reviews. However, these environments, being much smaller than a typical Mario 64 or Sunshine level, are positively cramped in comparison. Inscrutably, though, virtually no critics seemed to think this was the case, with many praising galaxy for having “huge expansive worlds to explore” and being able to instill “the sense of wonder and exploration [which] is as mind-blowing as you remember.”

The second reason hardly anyone seemed concerned about Galaxy’s relative linearity is that, quite simply, most critics didn’t care, or even recognize it, at least not in the written reviews. There were some that noticed, though. They wrote of Galaxy’s “pseudo-linearity” and the fact that “the majority of the platforms are formed by smaller and condensed structures requiring little exploration.” However, most reviewers, as mentioned before, extolled Galaxy for preserving the idea of having “several large, open levels for you to explore” and “large open environments.” Even the critics who acknowledged that Galaxy was linear compared to Mario 64 and Sunshine claimed that the mere inclusion of the aforementioned “large open environments” balanced this out. It doesn’t, though. The much-lauded “open environments” are pale shadows compared to those found in Mario 64 and Sunshine.

NintendoWorldReport probably came the closest to hitting the nail on the head in explaining this gap between perception and reality. It was their review that cited Galaxy’s “pseudo-linearity,” and they went on to say that it allowed Mario to “go back to [his] 2-D platforming roots rather than the wide-open, but less interesting seek-and-find nature of prior games.” Other reviewers, consciously or not, evidently agreed. (At least one wrote enthusiastically about how wonderful it was to not have to go on red/blue coin, or even regular coin, quests anymore, apparently not placing the “purple coin” challenges in the same category.) I, however, am less than thrilled with Galaxy’s linearity for one crucial reason: it makes the game too easy.

When getting stars becomes only a matter of moving from Point A to Point B by completing simple tasks and fulfilling requirements, with very little else to do otherwise, finding all the stars in the game, much less completing the main quest, becomes tragically routine, a foregone conclusion. Granted, there are a handful of exceptionally difficult stars, but the overwhelming majority are hardly taxing. What’s worse, 32 of the game’s 121 stars are not original missions. Rather, they are either variations of other stars—“speed run” (4), “daredevil” (5), and “fast foes” (2)—or “purple coin” challenges (17), most of which are quite straightforward and have exactly 100 purple coins, no more, no less. (The other 4 stars are “cosmic Mario” races, which are themselves rather simple and similar to each other.)

Stupefyingly, multiple reviewers commended these comet stars as proof that “the Galaxy team [refused] to take the easy way out in getting the most from the worlds they have created,” and that “things aren’t needlessly reused here to lengthen the quest,” and that they are NOT “just recycling the same content,” even though that is precisely what they do. Sadly, very few seemed to have any complaint against Galaxy’s overall difficulty level, with a few exceptions, notable among them Nintendo Power’s reviewer: “Unfortunately, Galaxy as a whole doesn’t seem to be able to overcome the industry’s slow, steady march toward easier games; in particular, the puzzle-oriented elements seem especially simple. The game is still challenging, for sure, but it won’t keep hard-core gamers up at night.” The fact that this is coming from Nintendo’s own magazine makes it all the more telling. Two other choice comments on this issue come from the Wiire—“Gamers raised on Mario platformers won’t find much of Galaxy to be terribly difficult”—and Cubed3—“The general difficulty of Galaxy is a bit questionable.”

If that weren’t enough, though, more evidence indicates Galaxy’s comparative lack of challenge. It was one of the many titles included in Nintendo’s “Wii would like to play” advertisement campaign. That such a “hardcore” game would be marketed in the same manner as titles that are supposedly being marketed to casual gamers speaks volumes about who the game is really for and the kinds of development decisions that were made to make it palatable for them. Finally, Reggie Fils-Aime, Nintendo of America’s own president, said something very interesting in an interview at E3 2009: “[I]f the first Galaxy was maybe more inviting in terms of all the audiences, what Galaxy 2 is going to be is maybe a little more Nintendo fan/harder gamer focused. A little tougher….It’s going to be, if you will, for more of that passionate Mario fan who grew up getting challenged with Super Mario World.” The very fact that he is making such an assurance, though, is next to an open admission of Galaxy’s comparative simplicity.

Nevertheless, Galaxy’s level of difficulty was a total non-issue for most reviewers. Quite the contrary, several of them had kind words to say about the challenge it presented: according to some, Galaxy is “a stiff platforming challenge” and it “definitely offers considerable challenge.” Those who did even mention difficulty as a possible problem usually dismissed it as minor. Based on the reviews, at least some of them did so because even if they found the game a bit easy, they still thoroughly enjoyed what it entailed. The thrills of the game itself—flying through space, platforming through multiple gravities, using fun power-ups, spin-attacking enemies, collecting star bits, and marveling at the game’s beautiful graphics, creative level themes, sound and music—made such issues as difficulty, or indeed, linearity, irrelevant.

Nearly everyone, whether they were conscious of the differences between Mario 64 and Galaxy or not, hailed the latter as varied and beautiful, even groundbreaking, but most importantly, deliriously fun. I, however, was left cold. I expected one thing and got another, something that was a lot like what I had been expecting, yet was also completely and horribly unlike it. What was worse, virtually no one else seemed to realize how different it really was. If people are aware of the changes and like them, I can accept that, but I cannot tolerate the idea that Galaxy is just “Mario 64 in space.” It is not, whether people realize it or not.

King of Prosecutors: What Makes Edgeworth Unique

It could be said that Miles Edgeworth, the series’ first main prosecutor and Phoenix Wright’s closest friend, is a pretty popular character, well-loved for his suave demeanor and witty performances in court. At the very least, he was the prosecutor chosen to star in Capcom’s spin-off game, Gyakuten Kenji, as opposed to someone else. However, there are arguably at least a few other qualities that set him apart from the other three main prosecutors—Franziska von Karma, Godot and Klavier Gavin—and my interest in Edgeworth as a character has led me to write about these.

Perhaps most striking about Edgeworth is that he is the only prosecutor who does not seek the protagonist out for his own personal reasons. Just the opposite, Phoenix is the one seeking Edgeworth out so he can confront him about the “demon prosecutor” rumors. This stands in stark contrast to the other three, who (at least initially) go up against the protagonist with their own personal vendettas: Franziska wants to beat Phoenix as “revenge” against Edgeworth; Godot wishes to do the same out of contempt for Phoenix’s character and the fact that he blames Phoenix for Mia’s death; even Klavier first faces Apollo with the express intent of appraising the skill of “the little boy who bested [his] brother.” As further proof that he sought out Apollo, Klavier states that he had to “cancel a show or two” to be there, but that “[he] wouldn’t miss this day in court for the world.”

A characteristic of Edgeworth which is just as noticeable is that, at least compared to the other three, he treats his opponent rather humanely and respectfully. It is true that he fairly frequently belittles Phoenix, often with a condescending smile, but it is just as true that Phoenix often does and says things in court that are deserving of at least some degree of scorn. Franziska and Godot, meanwhile, are nowhere in the same universe as common civility. Franziska mercilessly whips Phoenix and childishly calls him a fool countless times, while Godot does not even deign to get Phoenix’s name right, insults him at almost every opportunity, and even throws his mug full of scalding hot coffee at him on occasion. Though Klavier is definitely more civil than the other two, even he is somewhat contemptuous, often mocking Apollo without provocation and calling him “Herr Forehead.” (On a related note, another indication of Klavier’s slightly scarred character is that he laughs when he informs Wocky Kitaki that he could die soon. Granted, Wocky is the son of gangsters, reasonably suspected of murder and a punk to boot, but still.)

One last quality that distinguishes Edgeworth is that he has no real gimmick (unless you want to count his frilly cravat and manner of dress in general), no quirk to associate with him, no memorable theme song. Franziska, though she has no theme either, definitely has her whip, which has got to be the definition of the words “gimmick” and “quirk.” Godot, too, will forever be remembered for his iconic coffee mug (and the plethora of questionable coffee metaphors that came with it) almost as much as for his catchy theme. Klavier more than holds his end up too, with his rock-star side job and persona, complete with a rockin’ theme. With such flamboyance and swagger coming from the other three, Edgeworth looks pretty plain in comparison, but his character shines all the more because he relies on no gimmick to be compelling.

In closing, the reader may be wondering why I bothered writing this, since I don’t really have anything new to say. I must admit this essay was born primarily out of my love for Edgeworth as a character. He is, in fact, my favorite character in the entire series, and as such I have a tendency to compare him with the others, particularly the main prosecutors. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Edgeworth was quite different from the prosecutors who followed him, so I laid out the differences in writing simply because they interested me. You may not have found anything I wrote of interest, but I hope you did.

“If I wasn’t laughing…I’d weep”: Klavier Gavin’s Trials and Tribulations

“I’ll bet that smile doesn’t go very deep.”

-Apollo Justice reflecting on Trucy Wright, GS4

Klavier Gavin—star prosecutor of his generation and formerly the lead singer of his own hit band, the Gavinners—is undoubtedly the most open “opponent” in the series to date, as well as the least antagonistic. An easy smile nearly always on his face, he likes to keep the courtroom atmosphere light. However, within the timeframe of GS4, multiple personal tragedies take place that raise questions about his internal stability and, in turn, his ability to maintain his outward buoyancy.

GS4 starts off with a bang when the murderer for case 4-1 turns out to be none other than Apollo’s suave and sophisticated mentor, Kristoph Gavin. There is little to no exposition of Klavier’s feelings about this in the game, but some hints are offered. When Apollo and Klavier first face off in case 4-2, Klavier describes Apollo as the “little boy who bested my brother.” The unmistakable disdain in his tone could be a reflection of the emotions he is still feeling over the incident. (Learning that your older brother killed somebody, after all, would be no insignificant thing, not to mention the idea of that same older brother—a highly skilled attorney—being brought to justice by his own rookie apprentice.) However, any shock, anger or disillusionment felt by Klavier over his older brother’s crime can be guessed at, but are never made explicit.

Klavier continues to suffer when his best friend and band-mate, Daryan Crescend, is found guilty for the murder of Romein LeTouse, an Interpol agent. Daryan’s crime in itself is bad enough, but the fact that he is a detective at the local precinct and has worked with Klavier on past cases makes it even worse. Possibly the aspect of the crime that cuts deepest, though, is the fact that Daryan took advantage of his closeness to Klavier in order to carry out the smuggling of the Borginian cocoon. Again, Klavier keeps his emotions in check for the majority of the trial, but his facade disappears briefly when the truth of Daryan’s personal betrayal comes to light. Yet, by the end of the trial he appears to have resigned himself to Daryan’s guilt. His calm appearance notwithstanding, it is highly likely that he was still struggling to accept what had just happened, at least to some degree.

Let’s take stock of the situation now. In the span of about a month and a half, Klavier was betrayed by his older brother and his best friend, both having committed murder. It is no great stretch to assume the pain and disillusionment he felt over these incidents. Sadly, these were both overshadowed by a far worse tragedy.

The greatest and most devastating revelations take place in case 4-4, and they are as numerous as they are damaging. It was Kristoph Gavin who forged evidence, not Phoenix Wright, whom Klavier had believed to be guilty of said crime for seven whole years; it was Kristoph Gavin who, upon being dismissed by Zak Gramarye, manipulated Klavier into treating Phoenix hostilely and having a special witness ready to decisively condemn him; it was Kristoph Gavin who, having concluded his business with the Mishams, took “protective measures” that resulted in the death of Drew and the near death of Vera, in addition to keeping watch on any others connected to the Gramaryes (namely Phoenix and Spark Brushel); finally, upon being proven guilty of all these crimes, Kristoph flies into a fearful rage, eliminating any remaining vestiges of dignity and respectability. Regarding the suspicious circumstances behind the Zak Gramarye trial, Klavier himself was aware that all was not well, so though the degree of his brother’s guilt may have far exceeded his worst suspicions, he was still probably at least a little prepared for the truth. Nonetheless, the burden was surely a grievous one, a fact best exemplified by the quote this essay is named for:

Klavier: Incredible. If I wasn’t laughing…I’d weep.

The game ends with Kristoph’s fate (insane asylum? death row?) unknown and Klavier’s dissolvement of the Gavinners. With this new emotional scar to bear, will he form a relationship with Apollo, a relationship with chemistry comparable to that which Phoenix and Miles Edgeworth share? Or will he keep his emotions bottled up inside and just deal with it as he’s been doing (at least as far as we know)? One can only do that for so long without it being noticeable, though. It could very well be that Klavier’s personality will undergo subtle changes due to the psychological damage he has born. Whatever happens, though, one thing is certain: Klavier Gavin’s personal traumas cannot be ignored in the evolution of his character, and they will affect him one way or another.

Note: The following text is supplementary and subject to perspective.

As a possible supplement, consider this: it is said that the eyes are the window to the soul. If this is true, and if the mouth by comparison can feign emotions, compare the close-up of Klavier’s whole face with the close-up of just his eyes. Does the picture of just his eyes seem angrier than the one in which his whole face is visible, even though the former seems to be just a smaller slice of the latter?