What the hell? Why did that stupid Metroid end its peaceful existence for the sake of me, some punk kid who spent the last week in the front of his TV playing a game?

Video games are a tricky thing. They are members of an infant medium when compared with film and television, yet have garnered a following that rivals that of any other form of entertainment. However, the mainstream media still doesn’t give them the respect that they deserve.

Prominent film critic, Roger Ebert, is notorious for his firm stance against videogames being considered an art-form. When the single most renowned film critic in the world criticizes a medium, people tend to listen.

In a November 2005 Q&A session on his website, Ebert writes, “Video games by their nature require player choices, which is the opposite of the strategy of serious film and literature, which requires authorial control.”

Roger Ebert may be an expert when it comes to cinema history, but he is painfully ignorant when it comes to video games.

To combat all of the negativity swirling around the medium, I’ve decided to embark on a one-man crusade to prove that video games can incite any emotion just as well as any novel, film or song.

Today’s emotion is sadness. Art that can make the participant sad is hardly a new concept. We can all relate to a certain book (“The Time Travelers Wife”), film (“Babe: Pig in the City”), or song (Elton John’s “Someone Saved My Life Tonight”) that always seems to bring tears to our eyes. However, most people don’t usually associate sadness with games.

That’s because most people haven’t made it to the end of “Super Metroid.”

By 1994, the Super Nintendo had already solidified itself as the greatest system in all the land. However, no one knew just how great it could be until Nintendo released its magnum opus, “Super Metroid.”

Chronicling the adventures of bounty hunter Samus Aran, the game sent players to the heart of a lonely planet where the only sounds were the echoes of the dead. It was here that we discover the Metroid, a floating protozoan that remains silent as it wanders throughout the universe.

The atmosphere of the experience was revolutionary for the time, and still holds up in today’s age of hyper-realistic graphics and orchestrated music. However, none of these things could prepare this 8-year-old child for what was to happen at the climax of the game.

When you finally stood face to face with your nemesis, you quickly realized that you were vastly underpowered. Moments before your inevitable death, the Metroid swoops in and, in an act of blind compassion, sacrifices itself for you.

What the hell? Why did that stupid Metroid end its peaceful existence for the sake of me, some punk kid who spent the last week in the front of his TV playing a game?

With difficulty, I pulled myself together and finished the game. However, after the credits ended, I noticed that I still felt sad. As of 1994, the only other thing to make me sad was pretty much every single moment of “The Land Before Time.” Somehow, the sacrifice of a virtual amoeba somehow brought me into a state of depression.

So what do “Super Metroid” and an Ingmar Bergman film have in common? They both have the ability to leave me in a melancholy state for days. Take that, Roger Ebert!

> Comments