The Pixels and the Passion

It doesn’t really matter what the record is for, at the end of the day; to be
able to say, even if only for a time, that you were the single most accomplished
individual in the world at something is a sensation only a fraction of us will
ever know. It takes guts, sacrifice, and a skill level bordering on obsessive -
from the other side – to achieve that degree of infamy. You might even have to
sort of ruin your life to accomplish the task, resting almost certain in the
knowledge that some day, somehow, someone will come along who’s just that little
bit more obsessive than you and shatter the record. No one, it seems,
understands this grim reality better than competitive video game players.

Think, for a moment, about what it takes to achieve greatness in this field:
solitary confinement, hours, days, weeks, months, years of practice, negotiation
of repetitive stress injuries, and the lobotomizing memorization of arcane
minutia and pseudo-random elements in something that few people will ever
understand. All for the curious prize of getting your name listed on a
website
until someone comes along with reflexes just that fraction of a hair better than
yours. And yet, the icons of gaming have so permeated our culture that they take
on almost mythic lives of their own; even the simple Pac-Man shows up in
graffiti
the world over, testament to the archetypal status games and top gamers have
take on in modern culture.

It stands to reason, then, that rivalries and grudges would spring up in the
community of those who seek these prizes. You’d also expect that the records
would be carefully safeguarded, with contentions to the crown screened carefully
but fairly – and here, you may be wrong. This is the premise of
King
of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters, an eye-opening and entertaining look at the
world of competitive gaming.

Kong tells the story of the world record high score on Donkey Kong, held
at one time (and possibly again) by Billy Mitchell, a titanic presence best
described as the Hulk Hogan of competitive classic gaming. He held the world
record on 5 different machines at one point in time; he was one of the 20
ordained champions in Life magazine’s photo essay in 1982 (and never did
quite retire the hairstyle); he has parlayed the fame that earned him into a
successful franchise of hot sauce and barbecue restaurants (which the film’s
producers attest serves fantastic wings). Pitted against Mitchell is Steve Weibe
(pronounced “WE-bee”), an affable, bumbling, unfocused Redmond science teacher
who set out to break the Kong record as a confidence booster when he was between
life paths.

Donkey Kong, as the talking Barbie might say, is hard. Featuring the
first appearance of Nintendo mascot Mario, it’s arguably the most difficult of
the 5 top classic games (the others are Defender, Galaga, Frogger, and Pac-Man)
in that it features more random elements than the others and is less forgiving
in its collision detection routines. It requires practice and split-second
timing (your humble reporter has yet to break 34,000 points, which would score a
mere 47th place). And somewhere around level 22, the game suddenly just STOPS,
performance to that point be damned. So to score over a million points is no
small accomplishment, and Weibe was justifiably proud of himself when he sent in
his score. What he didn’t count on was the fact that former record-holder
Mitchell is a key part of the self-image of Twin Galaxies, the organization that
officiates the world-record scores in video gaming. The story that follows is a
tale of hubris, idol worship, and the stupidity of groups. Kong paints
the volunteer staff of TG as well meaning but celebrity-blinded volunteers who
need Mitchell to succeed for the good of the organization. Unlevied, but
clearly implied, is the accusation that Mitchell is judged by a different
standard as a result.

The fallout is equally unstated, but somewhat more tangible. At the time of the
movie’s editing, Mitchell actually held a position of referee with the
organization, despite the potential for conflicts of interest; as of press time
he is no longer listed in that capacity on the TG website. Neither is
Robert Mruczek, the referee who at
the time allowed questions about Weibe’s record-breaking run to count against
him, resulting in the title returning to Mitchell. And though TG doesn’t mention
Kong anywhere on its website, it has posted a
prominent
release claiming Mitchell set a
new record in July of this year (after the film’s completion but before its
premiere). At press time, however, the official scoreboard listed Weibe as the
record holder – almost as if they didn’t want a repeat of the controversy that
spawned the film to begin with.

The question then becomes: was this controversy, in fact, manufactured by the
filmmakers? In
an
interview with MTV news,
Mitchell claims the film leaves out some key points, such as the supposed fact
that Mitchell’s controversial taped high score that stole Weibe’s thunder was
pulled 48 hours after Weibe was overwritten. Or the fact that one
Tim Sczerby actually busted Mitchell’s ’82 record in
2000. While the film certainly doesn’t outright SAY that Mitchell was still the
record holder in 2002, when Weibe first got it into his head to challenge the
score, that’s certainly the implication underlying much of the film’s dramatic
tension; meanwhile, the TG website
lists
a 2001 score for Sczerby higher than Mitchell’s record in the film. Mitchell
also contends that he’s faced off against Weibe in public on numerous occasions,
though just about everyone else who has spoken publicly on the matter disputes
that.

And here’s where the conspiracy theory starts to unravel. TG ignored
multiple
requests for comment, but Kong‘s PR firm
hipped us to some fairly incriminating facts. TG has apparently
changed the
rules on Donkey Kong score verification, and the tape that Mitchell
supplied to
break the record doesn’t conform to these rules, meaning he hasn’t
officially
broken the record and Weibe’s score still stands at the moment. Why,
then, issue
the press release? Why is Mitchell offering a $10,000 bounty to
anyone who can
break his record rather than Weibe’s? Why did TG issue a
release stating
that
id="vyz5" title="Seriously, TG - what the fuck?">Weibe
scored 695,000 trying to break the “new” record when, in fact,
the record he
was trying to best was his own? Doesn’t look good for TG’s credibility -
especially given how hard they’re pushing
Chasing
Ghosts, a significantly less controversial documentary about
classic gaming
that doesn’t even seem to have a distributor, with nary a mention of
Kong anywhere on their site or
discussion
forums. Weibe, for his part, has documentably shown up at any number
of public
events to face off against the public (including
San
Diego Comic Con, less than a month before the film’s premiere)
and contends
that Mitchell has yet to face him.

Indeed, a head-to-head showdown may be the only way to once and for all put an
end to the question of who is the better player. Both men have proven that,
given enough time and resources, each can eke out a slightly higher score than
the other. A clash of these digital titans may be the only way to finally settle
a grudge that is now in it’s fifth year and otherwise shows no signs of
stopping.

Maybe this is the stuff that the sequel (or at least a
worth-the-price-of-admission DVD extra) is made of. It’s surprisingly easy to
envision a demand; despite the inherently geeky nature of the film, the NuArt
theater in Los Angeles was filled to overflowing, with a standing-room-only
crowd cheering emphatically at the feel-good ending, and laughing uproariously
when Roy
“Mr.
Awesome” Shildt – real-life nemesis of Mitchell, contested Missile Command
record holder, and source of much of the ruckus in the film – staggered down the
aisle in a wig and a beard, doing an uncanny, if rude, impersonation of
Mitchell. It’s the sort of cinematic wet dream that can only happen in LA.

Because who, at the end of the day, doesn’t love a David vs. Goliath tale of
overcoming impossible odds and a deck stacked against you? Weibe is the classic
everyman, fighting not for the fame or the girls or the glory but because it’s
the right thing to do; Mitchell is the classic smarmy, corporate opponent, not
actually evil but soulless and in it only for the money. The two opponents are
every bit as iconicly archetypal as the intrepid Mario himself, and no matter
how the story ends, one thing is assured: at least among gamers, both have
assured their place in history.

Tovarich, who got his start in journalism as a reviewer for GamePro
magazine, once dethroned the local arcade champion in Street Fighter II on an
utter fluke. He is editor for Mythos Media and sometimes correspondent for Alterati