Super Mario Bros. 3

Before I begin this review proper, I must confess there exist two factors that've always dumbfounded me regarding Super Mario Bros. 3, the NES game revered as the system's masterwork. Admittedly, one bears little on the game's quality in itself; mainly, the shock that its original Japanese release was a whole two years earlier in 1988 than its 1990 American release. Technically speaking, that's more so a year-and-a-half (Japan's October 23, 1988 to America's February 12, 1990 -- and that's to say nothing of Europe's August 29, 1991!), but the point is, I just think it's silly 1988 America was busy greeting a reassembled black sheep in Super Mario Bros. 2 while Japan was living it up with the Holy Grail of 8-Bit Gaming. As always with the medium, The Land of the Rising Sun really does have it good.

The other cause -- one immediately more relevant and, as evidenced by this Koji Kondo interview, has certainly confounded others -- is how I am never not baffled by the silent title screen. Anyone who's played the Super Mario All-Stars remake should certainly recall the jubilant ragtime remix of the classic Underwater Theme, perfectly accompanying the game's curtain-raising opening via choreography: the subdued drone introducing Mario and Luigi, the trumpeting eruption of delight greeting not only both the title and the theater's showers of enemies and power-ups, but our joy in playing one of the greatest 2D platformers ever crafted. A disorientation perhaps exclusive to those who played the SNES/GBA versions first (including yours truly), this aural absence unveils our first impressions of Super Mario Bros. 3 as a stunning retcon, its reduction to silent pantomime a bewildering relic.

Or is it? Let's not forget no such contradiction existed before All Star's 1993 release, and yet I suspect imagine many found themselves arrested by Super Mario Bros. 3's title screen. With this being the most hotly-anticipated video game hitherto, the cacophony of Mario and Luigi's curtain-raising chaos still mirrored their bubbling, unrestrained excitement knowing they'd finally, finally obtained their hands on their long-awaited Nirvana. This isn't to claim Super Mario Bros. 3 is a vast, interpretative thematic canvas  -- creator Shigeru Miyamoto's mind-blowing confession that the entirety of Super Mario Bros. 3 was but a stage play, the latest Looney Tunes-esque caper conducted by the Mario cartoon troupe, bears little on the player's rescue of Princess Peach --  but I am never not crushed by the history of this opening screen. It is only now I recognize it's the same spell found in Kirby's Adventure's arena matches, wherein any and all chiptune sound dispels halts the moment we defeat a mini-boss, a sudden stillness at odds with the dotted audience flickering about. I am there, in another time, another space, at six years and awake in the wee hours of the morning, staring at my ancient CRT television as Mario and Luigi bop around and engaging in hushed tomfoolery.

Like observing an antiquated silent film, I am watching something that can only exist in another era -- a deliberate time capsule outliving its nostalgic contemporaries in Nintendo Cereal System, The Adventures of Super Mario Bros. 3 cartoon, and those McDonald's Super Mario Bros. 3 toys. The dedicated Mario fan will remind me Super Mario Bros. and Super Mario Bros. 2 -- or should I say The Lost Levels -- didn't feature any title music either, but this screen presenting a miniature play as opposed to a preview demonstration is deliberate on the grounds of conveying something new. To the game historian, it is an arresting fusion indicative of a bygone era; to the veteran player hailing from 2988/1990, the anticipation for Raccoon Mario promises unparalleled adventure. In an age where video game standards were still being ironed out, we didn't always need sound to further drill home their passion; in other words, it's show, not tell.

That this contradiction exists at all is a fascinating insight into the modus operandi of Super Mario Bros. 3: the value of movement. Putting it this way: Super Mario Bros. 3 is the first proper evolution of Super Mario Bros. -- bear in mind The Lost Levels was akin to today's expansion packs, and Super Mario Bros. 2 was but an elaborate reskin. When Super Mario Bros. released, it awed on the flawless balance of momentum and cause-and-effect in jumping and running, compelling the fledgling player to experiment and instilling a god-like exhilaration into the master player. A sequel designed to push the series forward cannot, as The Lost Levels did, simply repackage the same engine into new levels -- it must, as we later detail with musician Koji Kondo's struggle, strike a compromise between familiarity yet surprise and wow us on the very same philosophy. That's how we end up with a world map, brimming to life with Hammer Bros. patrolling the Mushroom Kingdom's eight lands and warp pipes connecting province to province. That they play into gameplay with boss encounters and shortcut utilization render them not window dressing, but calculated avenues and endless possibility.

With the bare onus of Super Mario Bros. 3's movement is made upon us within the first world -- Grass Land, with its bopping hills and mountains -- we awe at picking up Koopa Shells, experimentation prime in pinball mischief unearthing coin-granting P-Switches and hidden power-ups. Meanwhile, the shift in physics produces fleeting catharsis: when we bulldoze unsuspecting Goombas as we slide down hills and into deep, dank caves, we hum with destructive content; when we nab an invincibility-granting Super Star, we cackle with glee as Mario flips and flicks about, the earthbound and airborne helpless against his -- and by association, ours -- frenzied samba-accompanied rampage. (Our condolences to map-sentry Hammer Bros. who fell victim to clever Super Star-hoarding players taking advantage of their benevolence just for these overworld skirmishes. Myself, being the upstanding video game citizen I am, certainly didn't resort to such cheap tactics. No, sir.)

Mario's constant companion in the P-Meter keeps our thrills in check: its beeping red lights encouraging us to run and jump, it plays directly into Raccoon Mario's prowess of momentum-activated flight -- Mario's tail-flickering will soon run dry, but careful maneuverability unveils shortcuts and extra coins. A balance is forged: newer players will surely soar about to skip difficult levels, whereas the experienced player exercises moderation in locating hidden bonuses. This graduation seeps throughout play: when the raccoon-less Mario stumbles upon his first Coin Heaven, he reaps his rewards and goes on his way; when tail-adorned and, at the risk of abandoning auto-scrolling coins, dares to ascend further into the heavens, he vocally delights in stumbling upon a cloud-nestled 1-Up Mushroom.

Our engagement breeds further mystery and wonder; for instance, when coins and scores align in conjuring a Treasure Ship, those of us who didn't possess the official Nintendo Power guide -- or even today, browsed Super Mario Bros. 3 FAQs online -- were left speechless. The gears quickly churn: that the wandering Hammer Bro. only transformed after a level's completion means we were somehow responsible for its sudden metamorphosis, and subsequent playthroughs are immediately subject to replicating our steps again and again. The pressing conundrum of convincing our friends at school this actually happened matters little to the satisfaction that the game's animated title screen has lived up to its promise: "Anything can happen."

It's only natural, then, that the game takes care in continually pushes new ideas from thereon -- whereas Super Mario Bros. grew lax in repeating concepts, Super Mario Bros. 3 strives for ambition. The level objectives masterfully shift on a dime, be it operating on thin-ice fear (our shock at the Angry Sun -- an evolution of the familiar stalking Lakitu -- renders it perhaps the game's most memorable enemy, while the constant prowl of Boss Bass instills a sweat-dropping paranoia vocalized by "ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit") to a one-time vehicle in Goomba's Shoe, its  invulnerability imprinting a leathery sole upon our hearts and leaving us begging for more. Regardless, Super Mario Bros. 3's deliberate equilibrium in reining its imagination alongside more measured, reserved levels assures it doesn't go overboard with gimmicks.

With all my harping on nostalgia, we could, perhaps, discuss how Super Mario Bros. 3's lack of a save feature meant players had to set aside time for full completion -- an outdated practice in today's NES Classics, Wii U/3DS eShop downloads, and Nintendo Switch Online services -- but I'm more interested in how despite Super Mario Bros. 3's limited length today, its mission statement frames it huge even today. It forging Mario's first iteration of thematic world maps (some concepts remaining curiously unique, including the imposing Giant Land and Pipe Land's underground puzzles) -- all meticulously designed around the very finest level design 2D platforming out there is but complementary to its individual interludes -- our awe at the screen quaking when we've unearthed Hammer Bros. and Tanooki Suits from towering Question Mark Blocks, our fervent pursuit of Bowser's dastardly children, whose airships flee across the lands upon falling overboard. Even our minds short-circuiting at Princess Peach facetiously reciting the most dreaded sentence in Mario history is but the latest twist within the loose, yet newly-forged Mario canon --  its momentary apprehension and all calculated mischief courtesy of a whimsical, self-referential animation's season finale.

A feat helped along by the music -- and let us not forget living legend Koji Kondo cited this game's theme as the most challenging he'd ever wrote, citing his desire to create something not nearly as empowering at the first game's theme. His desired balance of a motif familiar, yet new is a perfect match: with Super Mario Bros., its bone ingraining ditty was vital in submerging ourselves into a colorful new world; with Super Mario Bros. 3 being three games in, a more reserved welcome is appreciated as opposed to a potentially-exhaustive topper. All effort put to good use, with the laid-back tropical percussion letting us sit back and simply revel in the wonders we engage in rather than constantly screaming "look at this! This is amazing! You are wowed!" For all of Mr. Kondo's apprehension, this theme ultimately blossomed into a backdrop coolly complementing our leisure.

It's here we also find my personal favorite Super Mario Bros. 3 "first" in Mario's initial "Athletic" theme. A series of deceptively light-hearted songs accompanying tough levels, this piano-born tune operates on a calculated mischievousness that intentionally compounds upon our frustration, be it falling victim to an auto-scrolling trap or a fatal, mistimed jump. It forges a veritable Nintendo cartoon, framing our life-or death struggle with Desert Land's Angry Sun as a comedic vaudeville pursuit.

This isn't to say Super Mario Bros. 3's soundtrack consistently contrasts its host with never-ending lightheartedness -- the ghastly Fortress theme is appropriately beckoning, yet a quick comparison with the original unveils a more foreboding direction -- yet with the probable exception of Metroid, I cannot recall such subtle musical cues within any Nintendo title prior. Not to dismiss Super Mario Bros.' deliberate physical manipulation, of course, but these themes grow beyond Even the map themes' short loops play into this: Giant Land's addictive groove revels in our excitement, whereas with Water Land works in tune with the waltzy Underwater theme to soothe our level-battered nerves. (That the careful Nintendo-inclined ear catches the familiar Zelda File Select/Fairy Fountain theme compounds this process -- how's that for another left-field retcon?)

Is it any surprise, then, that I hail the Coin Heaven theme as the game's finest? Despite its dwelling within Sky Land's paradise and the Warp Zone, it is but a fleeting dream, its eight-second loop affirming we can't linger within its holy confines for long. When we bear witness to its aural bliss, when our curiosity rewards us with a bonus within a bonus level, we recognize we have barely scratched the surface of what Super Mario Bros. 3 has to offer -- a consequence inevitably facing any meager review entailing its virtues. (Note that I possess no room to discuss gaming's biggest non-secret involving a certain Warp Whistle: one gleaned through word-of-mouth, an in-game hint, or innate curiosity) Even when we think we know it by heart, that familiar "I can do that" creed burgeons within us again and again, rendering rebound inevitable.

Form, function, engagement: I'm hard-pressed to cite anything within Nintendo's library beautifully masked as Super Mario Bros. 3's feedback loop, and such perfected expertise wholeheartedly deserves the prize of NES's best game. Yes, my bias for Kirby's Adventure and its earnest, heart-melting philanthropy renders it my favorite -- and that's not even mentioning my own 2D Mario preference in Super Mario World -- but it is as awing as its history demands, the most timeless of interactive gaming theater. The more we penetrate the surface, the more we demand, gain, and achieve; in other word, your quintessential video game.

Screenshots courtesy of The Video Game Museum.