The King of Kong

suttonhoo, knowing of my adolescent love of the Brothers Mario, suggested the documentary The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. It was released this week, and out of my powerful respect for her taste and intelligence, both of which far outshine my own, I not only added it to my Netflix queue, I even bumped it up to the front of the line. I didn't want to be six months behind on the conversation.

The documentary gives us entry into the world of "competitive classic gaming," a cabal of skinny, greasy, bespectacled geeks who commit their lives to the profitless pursuit of world record scores in early-'80's cabinet arcade games the likes of which I spent years of my youth dropping quarters into at the local 7-11. Specifically, the story centers on the previously undisputed god of Donkey Kong, whose score is so exponentially higher than any other pretenders to the throne that it is universally believed that it will stand forever as the greatest achievement ever on one of the hardest games ever invented. Then enters our David to this Goliath, and the chase is on.

I didn't think I'd enjoy this documentary after the opening sequences because of the apparently serious treatment of an utterly ridiculous subject. The cartoonish nature of characters like the villainous Billy Mitchell and his long-time nemesis, Mr. Awesome, left me wondering when Harry Shearer and Christopher Guest would wander onto the scene, sporting outlandish accents and hairdos. Then two things changed for me.

First, I started to realize that the filmmakers weren't taking it all that seriously after all; they seemed to be approaching the subject exactly as if they were making Best in Show or A Mighty Wind: making fun of the world that they're documenting, but with a genuine, heartfelt affection.

Second, I was surprised to find that I was becoming somewhat emotionally invested in the story. I felt outrage for the dastardly treatment to which Steve Wiebe, our David, was subjected at the hands of the Scorekeeping Establishment and Billy Mitchell, the man pulling the Establishment's strings. Wiebe seems fully aware of the ridiculousness of the world into which he's entered, but he still yearns for his one fair shot. I felt a pang in my gut when he's shown with wet cheeks after being thwarted once again. I admired and pitied his wife, who supports him in his quest and travels back and forth across the country with him in his pursuit of it, but who kind of just wants the whole thing to be over soon. Even the minor characters, the hangers-on to the greatness of Billy Mitchell, are presented with an endearing sort of humanity. The desperation of Mitchell's protégé, Brian Kuh, as Wiebe gets closer and closer to the record, for example, is nearly as heartbreaking as Wiebe's tears.

I won't spoil the story and tell you whether Wiebe's David takes down Mitchell's Goliath, but if you enjoy a good fake documentary, I recommend this real one. Thanks for the suggestion, Ms. hoo.