Li’l Penguin Lost
I’ve been meaning to vent about this since 1996. In the first snow level of Super Mario 64, the player spots a crying baby penguin waddling in circles at the peak of Cool, Cool Mountain. Mario can pick up the small bird and travel, but a newb may wonder where to go. Farther down slopes of the mountain, at the base, one finds a big, distraught mother penguin. When approached by Mario, she’s like, “Ope! I lost my kid. I’m freaking out. You look like a problem solver, Mr. Mustache. How ‘bout some help?”
The mission is easy to complete. Carry the wee one from the top to the bottom, avoid a few obstacles, be careful on the bridge with the jumping snowmen, and reunite mother and child. A grateful mom then awards Mario a star. It appears to emerge from her butt, but hey, a star’s a star. And personally, I’m more than happy to end the trauma by bringing a penguin family together. Call me a wuss all you want, but I don’t even carry the kid a short walk to the edge of the earth and drop him into the abyss. I may be soft, but I don’t need your cheap thrills and I don’t want that on my conscience.
It felt great to earn that star. Instead of just winning a foot race against Koopa the Quick or stealing a star off the tail of a giant eel monster, this feat makes me feel like Mario made a difference. Put a cape on that man! He’s Super Mario.
However, when the player returns to that level, the li’l penguin is lost again, estranged from his mom. When you talk to the mom a second time, she’s like, “Ope! I lost my kid. I’m freaking out. You look like a problem solver, Mr. Mustache. How ‘bout some help?”
It’s fitting to have February-type weather on Cool, Cool Mountain, because it seems like these events are taking place on Groundhog Day. “Thanks for helping me find my kid!” says the relieved penguin. Existence resets. “Hey, help me find my kid!” Repeat on loop.
If you have enough of a nagging superego for this experiment, you can rescue and reunite a second time. You will be awarded a star that’s black, not golden, which means it’s not really a star at all. This cues the usual spin-and-peace-sign celebration by Mario, who then leaps out of the magic painting on the wall, having achieved nothing.
You can leap back into the painting to find the child is in need of rescue again. Now, I am not a parent. I don’t have firsthand knowledge of all the challenges. But I gotta call it like I see it. Mama penguin needs to step up her game, because she’s in an endless cycle of losing her damn kid.
In a perfect world, I’d rescue the li’l one every time. But I’ve got problems of my own. I gotta beat Bowser’s ass by throwing him at bombs. I gotta save the Princess and eat the cake she baked for me. My God, there’s a damn vulture tryna steal my hat on the pyramid level. Is there a button I can press to call Social Services on this penguin mom? No? Well, then I’ll just conquer this game and get all 120 stars knowing there’s still a lost li’l penguin on Cool, Cool Mountain. Ain’t that a b-word?
The Mario 2 Outlook
The Oligs got a Nintendo on Christmas Eve of 1988. At the time, it was a charmingly American thing to do. We still have a picture of the unveiling in a family photo album. My older brothers rejoice, the oldest holding the box, the other grinning behind him, their golden hair gleaming. My sister hand-gestures at the box. She humored us this one time by showing excitement for Nintendo, before ignoring video games for three decades and counting. As for yours truly, the pic shows only the back of my head, because I was so smitten with that Nintendo that I could not turn my head around to smile.
My parents never played the thing. But it’s a safe bet that my mom took the picture, basking in our Christmas joy. With less excitement on his face, I can see my dad wearing a thin smile, blue eyes semi-charmed, but always ready to roll. It’s likely that I babbled thank yous to Santa Claus, when Dad was the one busting his ass to buy his kids a home console that would never give him a minute of entertainment.
My mom worked hard and sacrificed, too, for games she never played, but I find myself singling out my dad more now that he’s gone.
After presents, my brothers and I stampeded down to the basement to hook up the system. My sister didn’t join us. For years, I think, this gave me the misconception that girls just don’t get into video games.
With no regard for originality, the first cartridge my brothers and I slid into the NES was Super Mario Bros. By the time my oldest brother logged his first death to a slow-marching Goomba (which would be humiliating by today’s standards), I was hooked. The peppy tunes, running, jumping, platforms, pitfalls, fireballs, and invisible stars enhanced my four-year-old quality of life. As the youngest and smallest, I was the last one to have a turn. It was a long wait into the night for Little Nicky to hold the controller. Thus began the trend, I suppose, of me becoming a night owl.
On level 1-1, I got killed by the same slow-marching Goomba, so nevermind the shit I talked about my brother. I whined as the controller was wrestled from my hands by my older brother, who soon had the thing wrestled away by my oldest brother. Dad called down the steps that it was time for bed, thus ending the controversy.
All this is to say, the Oligs have been down with this Mario shit since late ‘88. We got a copy of Super Mario Bros. 2 sometime in ‘89, and finished the iconic trilogy in ‘90, bringing home Mario 3 not long after its release.
My favorite of the trilogy is 2. That’s a contrarian flex. On a credible top 100 list by IGN, Mario 3 rated the very best Nintendo game ever made. The original Mario takes home the bronze at third on the list. What about the NES Mario that is the nearest and dearest to my tender heart? Well, Mario 2 barely cracks the top 20 at #18. I respect IGN’s conclusions, but I say ranking 2 behind Bionic Commando and Excitebike is a miscarriage of judgment.
IGN is not alone in its ranking of the trilogy. If we look at GameRankings for an aggregate score, Mario 3 dazzles with a score of 98%, the original earns an 86%, and 2 comes in last with an 81%.
Now let me tell you why everyone is wrong but me when it comes to Mario 2. The most convincing argument I can give is this: People are wrong a lot. And I believe Mario 2 is a fine example of this.
Admiring 2 is a fine way to defy conventional thought. At the risk of painting in broad strokes, we have more idiots than geniuses on this planet. As a whole, we’re so dumb that we’ve allowed flat-earthers, pre-ripped jeans, and Trump to make comebacks. In America, we’re still clinging to standard measurement over the simpler and more logical metric system, as if 1,000 meters equals 1 kilometer is harder to know than 5,280 feet make up 1 mile. So if you want to tell me that Mario 2 is the runt of the litter, you’ve got to show me something more convincing than popular opinion.
Mario 2 is unique. It has versatility. There are four players to choose from, each with its own strengths and quirks. Whereas 1 and 3 are like partnerships with Mario and Luigi, democracy flourishes in 2. Better yet, 2 offers us a band, one that’s diverse and rich in star power like The Beatles.
Paul is like Mario: the face of the franchise, the affable frontman, the charismatic leader. With his eccentric leaps of creativity and “Jealous Guy” feelings about Paul/ Mario, John functions as Luigi. George equals Peach; both can levitate with meditative zen. Toad has the beefy build of a drummer. Have you seen how fast he can dig down in sand? Imagine those hands and biceps smashing the skins. Like Ringo, he’s an essential member of the band whose solo work doesn’t measure up. For bonus points, drummers even sit on a stool. Toad, stool. This story writes itself.
So if Mario 2 is like The Beatles, what does that make 1 and 3? Well, I compare them to Simon & Garfunkel. They’re partnerships. And the one billed first has had a much stronger run as a solo act. And yeah, I get that Luigi’s Mansion has slightly narrowed the gap, but let’s not forget that Luigi was a no-show in Mario Odyssey because he lost his sidekick job to a damn hat named Cappie. I repeat, Luigi got replaced by Mario’s hat. (By no coincidence, Paul Simon frequently wears hats.)
I’ll take The Beatles over Simon & Garfunkel any day in this increasingly stretched metaphor in defense of Mario 2.
I love 2 because it transforms Toad from a bystander into a hero. And whereas Princess Peach is a victim of kidnapping in most Mario titles, she kicks ass and throws bombs in part 2. That’s feminism, baby.
Lovers of the plumber’s second game are imaginative. We’re daydreamers who dig up potion bottles and smash them to make a door to another dimension appear. We seek prizes and power-ups in a shadowy otherworld. Then with a sigh, we return to the chaos and villainy of the real world.
Big fans of 2 are not altogether kooky, though. We reject the silly notion that it’s cool to morph into a flying racoon or put on a frog costume. Star power is enough for us. We get that fleeting jolt of invincibility from drinks, laughter and sex. We are, after all, only humans—not raccoons or frogs.
A monstrous frog is, in fact, the final boss in the sequel. His name is King Wart and he looks a lot like former NFL player Ndomakung Suh. In part 2, Bowser and his minions are nowhere to be found. As every 2-believer knows, evil can assume more than one form.
Perhaps the greatest virtue of this title is its timelessness. Granted, all three NES games are timeless in a figurative sense, but numero dos stands out because it is literally timeless. Fans of the original and part 3 gaze to the sky to see the seconds ticking down to oblivion. Mario 2 devotees don’t share that bleak perspective. Clocks are unnecessary bothers to us. We realize that the hourglass could be an oppressive invention—because life is not a race, it’s an exploration. We’d rather roam at our own pace than be menaced by deadlines. For us, there is no warning sound to incite panic at the 100-second mark. The soundtrack doesn’t have to speed up to a nervous frenzy. We try not to rush into life’s game-changers like marriage and parenthood based only on our age. We might incur scoffs from the Mario mainstreamers, warnings about “biological clocks” and that old cliche, “life is short.” Showing no fear for time requires a leap of faith, but don’t forget, we’ve got Peach on the team to keep us levitating.
Can your favorite Mario justify such a leap of faith?
In closing, it should be noted that after the last vegetable has been tossed into King Wart’s mouth, when we finally croak that monstrous frog, the credits roll and we see Mario snoozing in bed. He dreamt the events of his second quest.
It’s funny to dwell on the meaning of the Mario 2 outlook. And maybe it’s childish for a grown man to still be musing about 8-bit video games. Hell, it’s 2024. Still, when I got the idea for this story in 2012, I was babysitting my one-year-old nephew. I was seated in a cozy chair, scribbling sentences on a legal pad with Buddy asleep in the cradle of my left arm. He started to stir and I had to stop writing. But I was able to lull him back and keep writing by singing to him.
I sang to him, “Row, row, row your boat…” And I wound up telling him that, much like 2, life is but a dream.
Yoshi Freaked Out My Niece
Winners was looking over my shoulder as I kneeled down to flip the power switch. Her face glowed with rich colors as the game started up. She grinned at the title screen. A cartoonish Italian voice spoke: “Itsumi, Mario!” Then: “Hello!”
Had I known this at the time, I would have informed my 3-year-old niece that Mario actually says, “Itsumi,” the Japanese word for “super,” and not “It’s me, a Mario.” I learned this from a friend only last year. But getting my facts screwed up didn’t stop me from having a good time. I tapped the silver bow atop my niece’s shortly cropped hair.
“It’s me, a Mario!” I said in a stereotypical Roman voice I picked up somewhere.
I grabbed a controller and the two of us sat on the couch. Winners was attentive, as I had told her I had a surprise for her. She was a big fan of Yoshi, the cute green dinosaur the player can ride in Super Mario World. She had seen Yoshi in action in his debut game, but had no idea that the egg-laying male makes a brief but memorable appearance in Super Mario 64.
The catch is, to chill with Yoshi, one must not only beat Bowser twice but 100% complete the game. That means collecting all 120 stars, not just 80 or 90. Most mortal men and women fall short of this achievement, but not Uncle Nick. The day before our hangout in grandma and grandpa’s basement, I had obtained star #120 with some tenacious play inside of Tick Tock Clock.
I even checked to make sure the Easter Egg I had unlocked actually worked. It did! 120 =Yoshi. Winners was gonna be amazed.
Sitting beside my niece, I picked my file and resumed the last part of my quest. Time for the plumber and Yoshi reunion. I began to narrate to my niece.
“Mario just runs across the front lawn of the castle… finds this little platform, and look! Now there’s a cannon inside. So he drops inside of it, aims high and shoots…”
Mustache guy shouted “yahoooo” as he soared through the air onto the roof of the castle. This made Winners giggle.
“Now I walk around this corner and—look! Who is that?”
“Yoshi!!” she exclaimed. She was at a level of enthusiasm that rivaled how she felt a year ago about that bum Talking Elmo.
“That’s right,” I said, smiling vicariously. I collected a few free guy mushrooms out of habit. “Should we talk to him?”
“Yeah!” she said.
So we did. I read the word bubbles to my niece. To you, I’ll just paraphrase:
“Mario?! Whoa, it’s been a minute, my friend. They told me to wait up here for you to show up. Don’t ask me who ‘they’ are, but they did. Now, be a straight shooter with me: Did you really beat Bowser again? And get all the stars, and save the Princess? You?! Nah, I’m just bustin’ your balls, I knew you could do it. Now, I gotta tell ya. I hate to break down the 4th wall like this, but thanks for playing this game. This is the end. There is literally nothing left to do after this but get on with your life, OK? I’m still gonna give you 100 lives, but really, this means nothing. Bye!”
My number of lives increased from 8 to the century mark. Looking back, this was the ideal time to shut off the game and go have a tea party. Instead, we kept watching. His cameo complete, Yoshi faced a nearby waterfall and jumped off the roof of the castle.
I thought of it as a somewhat clumsy farewell from an NPC. To a 3-year-old, however, it looked like Yoshi suicided himself.
I know that was my niece’s perception because she at once broke into tears. “Nooo, Yoshi! Yoshi don’ die! Don’ die, Yoshi!”
I was mortified by this twist. I had no idea that Yoshi’s kinda clunky goodbye could cause childhood trauma. I fought past my ignorance and offered Winners a hug.
“Oh no, that’s not true,” I said consolingly, “Yoshi just jumped into the waterfall. He’s alive.”
She was doubtful about that. She knew what she saw. The cute dino was chatting with the man in red overalls, seemingly bursting with joy and gratitude for this life. Then, with no warning signs whatsoever, Yoshi jumped off the very tall castle to his obvious death.
This was awful. My niece was freaked out, and I can’t say I blame her. I’m not a YouTube personality, but I must say that the devs screwed up when they made Yoshi’s exit look a lot like suicide to 3-year-old. With that in mind, I’m giving Super Mario 64 a score of 99% instead of a hundred.
Anyway, it took about 10 minutes to calm Winners down. I’m a big wuss in front of a crying kid, so I said I was sorry to make her upset. I told her it was only pretend. I repeated the words “make believe” in a soft tone. I even restarted the game, returned to the cannon and the rooftop, and spoke to Yoshi again so that she could see he was fine.
This time, I flipped the power switch. The screen went blank. Was Yoshi a timeless prisoner fated to always leap into the waterfall even though that may look like offing himself? We’ll never know.
Eventually, Winners recovered. She wasn’t crying when her dad came to pick her up an hour later.
A month after the Yoshi incident, Winners came up to me at her grandparents’ home. She had time to reflect on what happened. At any age, she had the look of someone who needed to confide. Somewhat bashful, but with great composure, she said this:
“When Yoshi die, that not real. Yoshi fine. It all preten’.”
Then she gave me a hug to show that all was forgiven. I felt like a hero.
Itsumi Mario.
