BMW Delay/Important Announcement!!

Hey guys! Unfortunately, Biweekly Music Wednesday won't be around again this week due to personal hiccups, but I do have some exciting news in its place! Remember how I got to play Super Mario 3D World/Donkey Kong Country: Tropical Freeze last year at Best Buy? Well, guess what I'll be driving down to Whitehall, PA to play?

That's right, Super Smash Bros. for Wii U! Alongside my annual E3 impressions, I'll be writing up a separate post describing both my experience at the event and my time game itself! I'll try to stick around for as long as it lasts (noon to five PM), so it'll be a meaty write-up. I can't wait to play as the new characters (and to check out my man Olimar...supposing he's in the demo!) and meet fellow Smashers, so even if the event's not in a city near you, hopefully I'll be able to channel enough excitement to get you hyped regardless!

In any case, I'm working hard to get the next Kirby Reverie by the end of the week. Look forward to it!

Ode to Nintendo Wi-Fi

Okay, it's not actually an ode, but I liked the sound of the title, so sue me!

Nintendo Wi-Fi Connection launched alongside Mario Kart DS on November 14th, 2005, and I can't think of a more perfect time for it to enter my life. I had only just turned fourteen, and like every other young teenager, I was a naïve little man bearing a toxic, skewed perspective. My childhood dreams of becoming a fiction writer were destroyed in the face of Kingdom Hearts fanfiction and obsessing over my treasured Dragon Ball manga volumes, of which I treated as holier than the Bible itself. My brother's fatal drug addiction was revealed only the month before, and I took it as another sign of the world as I knew it heading to ruin. November 14th was also, if I recall correctly, the very night where I thought I first fell in love.

In a context most beneficial to the blog, however, it was the very first online gaming experience on a Nintendo console (in this case, the DS). Nintendo Wi-Fi's grand opening was painfully barebones and antiquated even for 2005 standards: you had to input sixteen-digit "Friend Codes" to register your buddies, it lacked voice chat and various matchmaking options, and it often neglected starring features of certain games (in the case of Mario Kart DS, there was no Battle Mode, it was limited to half the courses, and only four players could participate in each group). It was complete ass, but I didn't really take note of that: I was still blinded by my Nintendo fanboyism, however subdued it was in a time of depression, and craved anything as an escape. 

I still remember those late nights, huddled on the back of the bed as I delved into the latest avenue of Nintendo. I delved endlessly into the matchmaking realm of Mario Kart DS, almost constantly losing but still persistent in finding opponents. When I wasn't challenging a player who'd likely kicked my ass, I'd sit there and listen to this while looking out into the starry night from my window. It's the theme of the game's Wi-Fi Menu, and it remains the chillest piece ever composed for Nintendo's online. Maybe I'll talk more about it some time.

My friends and I regularly visited each other's towns in Animal Crossing: Wild World.  We'd laugh at Dizzy the elephant's karate outfit all the while communicating with in-game keyboards, a now-nostalgic ring indicating the arrival of every new message. We laughed at each other's house interiors, initiate "Owl Time," and talk about girls of our dreams. We were just teenage fools in love, hanging out with the likes of baby bears and cats while pouring on each other with our silver water cans.

When everyone was busy lambasting Super Smash Bros. Brawl's online, we ignored the complaints and hopped for six years straight. The lack of a built-in voice chat was no deterrent; we merely took Sakurai's advice and made use of Skype. Throughout that period we found new secrets and crafted new in-jokes almost every time: the way King Dedede comically opened his mouth as he slowly cradled the Cracker Launcher, the near-seductive swimming position of R.O.B., and the graceful beauty that was Running Ivysaur. We'd fall into hysterical laughter as browsed through endless troves of nonsensical Brawl/Sakurai criticism ("Sakurai is a poor marketer!"), character lists (Ice Hockey team!) and all the people with grudge/stalker problems  the wonder people we'd come across on GameFAQS.. Sometimes we'd play this lovely video over our mics, too. And this one. And this one. And definitely this one.

I played Star Fox Command online, with its awfully homogenized Fox-only online mode. I played Diddy Kong Racing DS online, regularly dueling on the Fire Mountain stage. I struggled to reach the top ranks of Mario Kart Wii. I even endured the online shitfest that was The Conduit. You thought Brawl's online was bad? Daily hackers and the immortal glitch known as "Spinning Gun" constantly hampered that game's multiplayer, and I don't know even if me and my friends intentionally hogging the ASE Ball made up for that (yes, we were such monsters, I know).

 

But I can still look back on it and laugh.

I guess the point of this post is just to say man, I'm just glad Nintendo Wi-Fi was there. Call me an apologist, but for all the raging at Friend Codes and whatnot, I still got what I wanted in the end: playing with my distant friends anytime I wanted. I could Brawl with my friends nearly every weekend, and I'd hardly have to endure any of the infamous lag (seriously, it was far worse in Jump Ultimate Stars). I'd only have to punch in sixteen digits with someone just to play Mario Kart or Animal Crossing or whatever, and I'd be set and ready for battle/racing/screwing around. That's all I ever wanted.

Now that it's gone, what do I have left? The 3DS is doing fine with the Nintendo Network, but can you believe that it's been around a year and a half since the Wii U launched and there hasn't been a single Nintendo-published retail game that has online play? I could literally just sit here and elaborate at length for hours as to how badly they fucked up that console, but that's just in a league of its own. I'm getting old, you know? I won't be in college forever, and it's not like I can just invite my childhood friends over whenever I want to now. Everyone's busy, moving on with their jobs and falling in love for real. Me? I think the life of a hermit sounds mighty fine, but I still enjoy my friends.

So why the fuck can't I play Nintendo Land online? Can I really believe Miyamoto when he says Pikmin 3 and New Super Mario Bros. U can't be played over the network? Even the 3DS isn't exempt from this: you're telling me Star Fox Command could make do with a barebones online, yet you guys can't be bothered to do the same for a fully reconstructed multiplayer mode in the Star Fox 64 remake? It's the same excuse from Nintendo over and over: "We want to emphasize couch multiplayer with the Wii U." "We want to embrace togetherness with the GamePad." But do I and everyone else have to wait nearly two years because of their bumbling incompetence? This perspective as self-centered and short-sighted as the directive of the GamePad itself, and I've grown rather tired having to "please understand." Sorry, Mr. Iwata.

Options, Nintendo. That's how things work. I'll continue to play ball with Mario Kart and Smash Bros., but it just isn't the same anymore.

See you on the flipside, Wi-Fi.

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No Biweekly Music Wednesday! tonight; it'll be back next week.

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No. 9 ~Sector Y~ (Star Fox)

Origin: Star Fox

Composer: Hajime Hirasawa

Plays In: Sector Y

Status: Original Composition

I haven't talked about the Star Fox series too much on this blog, have I? Not to my memory, no. I suppose it'd only make sense to initiate its Leave Luck to Heaven introduction via the first game.

The debate of Star Fox vs Star Fox 64 will surely last until the end of time, but the former is unanimously favored in one area: its soundtrack. Hajime Hirasawa's SNES score is wonderfully suited for a space-shooting 3D thriller, entertaining mixes of the rock and orchestral variety. The latter in particular is a highlighted standout, what with it contrasting the endless grandeur of space with a cast of anthropomorphic space fighters. Despite this, I've always relished in the powerful emotions it instills into me as the player, such as the heart-pounding tension of narrowly dodging the crossfire of an galactic armada and the hard-won victory following a difficult boss battle, soaring off into the distance with my trusted wingmates.

Sector Y is particularly notable for refusing to align with the battle-ready/victory fanfares of its orchestral brethren, instead opting for a soothing space waltz. An odd choice for an action-heavy game, but it succeeds with flying colors. For starters, it's a beautiful complement to the stage's vague ocean theme, with lead Fox McCloud shooting up space-bound amoebas, eels, whales and the like. It recalls similar themes used for other games' underwater levels (Hello, Super Mario Bros.!), and with the level's black expanse of space stretching out for what seems like forever, it may as well just be another underwater level.

But gosh, it's just such a gorgeous song regardless! What astounds me most about the song is how it masterfully touches upon areas not explored anywhere else in the rail-shooting realm of Star Fox. It's as soft as a lullaby, yet grand as an orchestral hall. This does not delve into the philosophical (why is the leader of Star Fox shooting down whales?), but the dreamy hypnosis it induces on the player is so palpable, so distinct that it can't be merely shrugged off. Take me, for instance: the high-score driven gameplay gradually but surely slips away as I'm whisked away into a fantastical wormhole, its brilliant colors morphing together into gentle vibrational shapes not unlike that of the Windows Media Player visualizer.

Sector Y is optimal for that moment of Zen we so desperately seek from the daily turmoil of our working lives, and I suppose that's why I often turn to it for an escape. Donkey Kong Country's Aquatic Ambience is also a stellar choice, but there's denying that it can instill some serious gloominess; in the case of Sector Y, the song is more on the netural side, so I can count on it for not letting me slide down the slippery slope of depression (nor being uplifted by the false promises of more uplifting songs; it merely refocuses me). The compounding stress of schoolwork and working on my personal projects such as this lovely blog are no match for this zoned-out waltz, and for that I'm grateful to it.

It's a shame Mr. Hirasawa never worked on any future Nintendo projects following Star Fox, as I would've loved to see his fantastic sense of genre into more classic video games. However, I suppose that is why this particular soundtrack is so unique and treasured, for there truly is nothing quite like it.

Final Thoughts: Man, I should write about Star Fox one of these days. It'd be fun to rip apart Star Fox Adventures.
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Hmm...three Biweekly Music Wednesdays in a row. I think I hear Kirby calling me.

No Biweekly Music Wednesday! This Week

Hi there. Due to it being finals week and all, I've decided to put Biweekly Music Wednesday on hold until next week. Heck, it's the reason why this post is only up ten minutes before midnight!

Seeya soon!

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No. 8 ~Brinstar Depths (Kraid's Lair)~ (Metroid)

 

Origin: Metroid

Composer: Hirokazu "Hip" Tanaka

Plays In: Lower Brinstar

Status: Original Composition

My trip into the dismal, ruthless world of Metroid some three years ago still clutches at the back of my memory. To this day I'm still not sure if it was the excitement of finally "getting" a game concept that had long eluded me or if because it was the first game in some time to make me feel like a kid again. I mean, I dived into it amidst a turbulent period of moving into university for the first time, huddling with other students in a cramped hallway during a tornado watch on my very first night, and made steps within an uncomfortable environment to make friends all the while spending three days obsessively clutching my 3DS and playing a downloaded copy of a twenty-five year old video game. I sat through it for three days, barely peeking at guides and maps as I let this dark 8-bit world gradually take over my brain. It was such a short period, and yet just like childhood, it felt like forever.

Much like what the most fanatic proponents of the original The Legend of Zelda will tell you, the best way to play Metroid is just let the game's world gradually assimilate within your brain. For all the complaints regarding repetition in various room structures, there awaits much satisfaction piecing together an intricate map consisting of rooms you will visit many times over; in fact, it works wonderfully from a retroactive perspective, as it conjures the feeling of translating an ancient map. The result: an organic alien world that becomes overtly familiar to the player; in my case, the dangerous insides of Planet Zebes became me. Of course, Hirokazu "Hip" Tanaka's fantastic score does wonders with this process, with this song in particular standing out. But what to call it? Youtube tracklists alternate between "Kraid's Lair" and "Lower Brinstar", but my nostalgic affection for Super Smash Bros. Melee (which is host to an arrangement of this very song) compels me to call it Brinstar Depths.

Indeed, I was very familiar with the Melee arrangement as well as the Smashing...Live! orchestral rendition (creepy bells and all!), yet I was thoroughly unprepared for the awesomeness of the original piece. To my knowledge, I can't think of any other song like it on the NES and so I treasure its booming, foreboding nature. I seriously got chills when the game transitioned from the upbeat, heroic theme of Brinstar into the eerie and unknown. Looking back, I think that was the moment I got hooked. The initial area in Metroid isn't so tough, but the game cranks up the difficulty in Lower Brinstar, what with ceiling-bound enemies homing in on Samus's blindspots and rapidly-spawning beetles emerging from pipes. The song is a perfect accompaniment: it is actively apprehensive throughout, reminding the player to never let up your guard in this deadly alien world, for it takes no prisoners. Expect the unexpected. Reserve your ammo. Persevere.

My personal favorite bit is the one that starts at 0:32, where it shifts from a looming danger into an enigmatic mystery. It's a brief but chilling slice of mystifying enticement as the player embarks further into uncharted alien territory, and that's what I ultimately associate with the song: the unknown. During my three-day expedition on this alien planet, I didn't know what I'd run into. Yes, rooms would repeat, but what rooms would do just that, exactly? Would it be the dreadful ones with the diveboming Skrees? More often than not, it would be, and the music perfectly complemented my fear. But as I became one with Zebes, I cherished it. I awaited the challenge, the triumph that awaited from crushing the ruthless alien denizens and Space Pirate forces no matter how much fear coursed through me, no matter how little health I had left. I just kept going.

Is it the area where I died the most often at? Yes, and I certainly have the boss Kraid to thank for that, but I don't really mind. Both it and Brinstar Depths represent my relishing of old school challenge in an era where are largely obsolete. No longer do we have purposely vague maps with deliberately repeating eras, yet I can't help but adore Metroid's approach to it. It is brutal, unfair, and relentlessly difficult throughout, but is so satisfying to conquer. One day, I'll be back.

 
Final Thoughts: Dammit, I want to dive back into this game tooooooooo.

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Hmm, still a bit shorter than I want it to be, but it's longer than my last one!

So, I'm a bit late with my next Kirby piece. It looks like the game of my choice will have to be delayed to next month as I attempt to squeeze the next couple of Kirby titles into April. See you soon.

Biweekly Music Wednesday! No. 7 ~Garden of Hope~ (Pikmin 3)

A Biweekly Music Wednesday! first: two songs! While they're essentially the same, please be sure to take a listen!

Origin: Pikmin 3

Composer: Asuka Hayazaki, Atsuko Asahi, Hajime Wakai

Plays In: The Garden of Hope

Status: Original Composition

My first play session with Pikmin 3 back last August is by far my favorite 2013 moment. The hypnotic disbelief of playing a sequel I'd waited nine years for took held my mind captive in a blissful state, and hours flew by as I once again visited the beautiful world of the Pikmin. I was still dazed with euphoria for the rest of the day, not registering anything around me as my brain continually repeated, "I just played Pikmin 3. I just played Pikmin 3. I just played Pikmin 3, and it was glorious."

The theme for the Garden of Hope location played a major role in my ecstasy. Continuing the series' tradition of dividing area themes into morning, daytime, and sundown portions, Garden of Hope is quite reminiscent of the original Pikmin's Forest of Hope in they both share the serene, soothing nature like that of a lullaby. Garden of Hope takes it a step further though and instills a soft, gradual sense of realization into the player: that they've returned to the mysterious alien world that captivated them a decade ago, and oh, is it sweet.

The morning bit happens to be my personal favorite portion of the song. It's a pure, distilled representation of the isolated early morning, and I can practically feel the morning dew emerging on the flowers of a beautiful garden. In the context of Pikmin, it perfectly complements the series' beautiful tone of the fragile balance between and death, and I always sigh in reverie when this is reflected around 35 seconds in. As I attend a Christian university, it's actually what I imagine playing whenever the concept of Heaven crosses my mind, and it helped a lot in dealing with the third anniversary of my brother's death (which fell three days after the game's release).





The daytime version with the banjo is pretty damn great as well, building off the previous part with a more active feel. The laid-back plucks of the banjo steal the show, and yet the piece never loses its serenity. It's part of why Pikmin remains Nintendo's most eerily beautiful franchise: even as your Pikmin soldiers become devoured by the dozens, you fell giant beasts with explosions, and ample evidence of a post-apocalyptic Earth lie everywhere, it's all accompanied by beautiful, careful strokes of instruments like the banjo and piano.

And yet the player moves on, despite their mistakes. Life continues on in both the game and the real world, as the player laments the loss of their Pikmin and the in-game characters march on without time to mourn. The banjo continues plucking on, not discriminating against who dies and who survives. Rare is the video game track that embodies both the tone and the themes of a game, and Garden of Hope passes with flying colors.

So long as I continue to enjoy life despite the tragedies surrounding me everyday, I can move on knowing he's watching me.

Final Thoughts: Man, I'm so excited to begin my third playthrough.

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11:56 PM.....barely made it. But at least I did it, even if I didn't get as deep as I would've liked.

Hi There

How's it going?

So, we've had a bit of a slow start for 2014. The delays have been unfortunate, but deliberate: over the past five months or so I've been reflecting on what exactly Leave Luck to Heaven's purpose is to me. I've invested much time, labor, and love into its development, which has weathered through times of personal heartbreak and life-changing turbulence. 

When looking back over the past four years, we've come quite a ways, haven't we? Leave Luck to Heaven initially began as a writing platform for me to continually hone my craft, and the passion in my early entries are evident. I wrote various collections of articles--typically a thousand words each--revolving around individual games very near and dear to my heart, and I frequently posted impressions of the latest Nintendo releases. Those have since faded into disuse: I now only dedicate one post to each game, and I've regressed into reviewing older titles. While this has solved some problems regarding overworked time management and personal interest, it leaves new games neglected and other columns tend to languish. Leave Luck to Heaven, we can say, is still finding its voice.

And yet I feel I'm on the cusp of something. The level of writing ability between now and four years ago is night and day, and while this has caused some discomfort in reading my older work, I'm proud of how I've progressed. Yet if I want the blog to grow, it is necessary for me to follow a consistent dedication for an appropriate, realistic timetable. I cannot no longer accept a biweekly music column to be updated every few months, and I refuse to let my Kirby feature hog the spotlight for too long, and I'm rather sick of announcing new features that never come to fruition.

I want Leave Luck to Heaven to prosper through my own ambitions for writing, but I recognize this can only be managed through a reasonable workload in accordance to my time at college. Starting next month and for the next half year, I'll be initiating a regular monthly system for that strives to include two Kirby titles, the biweekly music column, and one game of my choosing. Further details are found in the bulletpoints below:

• I aim to finish the Ten Years of Kirby column by September. Kirby: Triple Deluxe will also be added to the selection.

• Just to speed things along, the overview of the Kirby of the Stars/Right Back at Ya! anime will be the final entry. This means April will focus on Kirby 64: The Crystal Shards and Kirby: Nightmare in Dream Land.

• Biweekly Music Wednesday! will continue...this Wednesday!
• The games of my choosing will be both old and new. I desire not to review recent games until after I have nearly exhausted everything they have to offer and have thereafter reflected sufficiently on my experience, so reviews for Nintendo's latest titles likely won't arrive until some months after their release.

Let's have a great 2014!

Ten Years of Kirby ~Reverie 6~ Kirby's Dream Land 3

Not even a week after Kirby Super Star's release in North America in September 1996, the Nintendo 64 launched with the revolution that was Super Mario 64. While not the first of its kind (that is, a 3-D game), it was certainly what turned people's eyes around to the endless possibilities of the new genres. No longer were developers shackled to the confines of two-dimensional space, as the awe-inspiring scope of Bob-omb Battlefield proved that game direction could be taken as far as the imagination allowed it. Companies quickly shifted gears in their development processes, whether it be direct knock-offs of Mario 64 or reconstructing obscure genres (such as Metal Gear Solid's take on stealth). Stragglers such as Klonoa and Mega Man attempted to prove 2-D gaming still had its place, but the public's captivation said otherwise.

With this in mind, it immediately strikes the retrospective game historian as being rather odd that Nintendo would continue bothering with the already-archaic 2D-focused Super Nintendo. Do not misinterpret me: I am not with any shortage of love for Nintendo's greatest home console, but why focus on an ancient console when your current one is struggling to gain a successful foothold? It's possible they assumed the two systems would be joint successes such as how the NES/SNES were previously, but with third-parties rapidly jumping ship to a more compatible contender (the disc-based Sony Playstation), it would seem rather obvious the N64 would need all the support it could get.

But as still remains the case today, debating the origins of Nintendo's infamous stubbornness will yield not answers but instead endless headaches, so we may as well accept and analyze the cards we were dealt. From a purely Japanese perspective, the aging Super Famicom was still quite healthy. Game distribution remained active through online (the expensive Satellaview add-on) and mail order (The Nintendo Power service; not to be confused with the American magazine of the same name), the most notable games including a Mario-themed Excitebike title, a Kirby spin-off, and a notoriously difficult Fire Emblem.

I cannot speak for Japan on their opinion for what seemed to be a rather inconvenient method of acquiring games (although said inconvenience and the failure of Famicom Stories: The Forest of Beginnings to bear potential financial fruit may be satisfactory hints alone), but regardless it stands in rather stark contrast to the bare lineup of American SNES titles; in particular, the circumstances surrounding Kirby's Dream Land 3 stump me. This is not to slight the game's quality, but I absolutely cannot imagine this being released in the same year (1997) when the N64 set the standards for the home console shooter via the instant popularity of Goldeneye 007, when the Zelda faithful were salivating over every shred of detail surrounding the upcoming Ocarina of Time, and--most damningly of all--within the very same month where Diddy Kong Racing was set to break the then-world record of being the fastest selling game ever released. As expected, despite sharing the name of the popular Dream Land Game Boy games, the game was forgotten as quickly as it came.

 It's due to this obscurity (among several other factors I'll discuss shortly) that Dream Land 3 was branded as something of a "black sheep" within the Kirby family tree--not something I entirely agree with, mind you, but it's not so surprising as to why it received that unfortunate label. First and foremost: the "crayon" graphics, while certainly ambitious in its own right, instantly divided players in a manner akin to the much more infamous Yoshi's Story; in other words, one either adored Dream Land 3's unique charm or found it not only too childish but also rather alien to the previous Kirby aesthetics they had grown accustomed to. I can understand these opinions (though sadly I still struggle comprehending anyone who despises the similar Kirby's Epic Yarn), for the game is not without its problems but it is this very alien nature that draws me to it.

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One reason why Kirby's Dream Land 3 struggles to maintain a positive public identity is that of its successful predecessor: Kirby Super Star. The mechanically ambitious 1996 title was designed around the ideal of constructing the grandest Kirby game yet on 16-bit hardware and had satisfied all its fans on that front, so to develop a title with a lesser focus on gameplay renders it rather off-putting to more than a few people. Given that I had played the two games within the relatively same time period at a young age (beyond their years of release, at that), I found no difficulty in separately enjoying the games on their own; in particular, the graphical direction of Dream Land 3 was more than enough to hook me. Now that I'm a young adult can see their differences, and my research of the series points to one very obvious culprit: the change of director.

As established within my Dream Land 2 editorial, Shinichi Shimomura is by no means a Masahiro Sakurai. How he got away with the bizarre juxtaposition of the two worst introductory worlds ever crafted within the 2D platforming genre and a gradual ascension into a near-masterpiece is beyond me, and during my venture within the Dream Collection I was dreading the same mistake would pervade his later two games. While Dream Land 3 isn't nearly as bad as its Game Boy brother in this regard, there is a definite tedium within its early stages that's obviously not present within Sakurai's Kirby titles. But if the SNES title truly has anything over Dream Land 2, it is its possession of the single ambition that matches Kirby Super Star:  its aesthetics.

Utilizing the very same SA-1 graphical chip that lent Super Star its graphical prowess, Dream Land 3 makes use of what's apparently dubbed "pseudo high-resolution", cleverly building upon the dithering effect (a graphical technique that pushes systems beyond primary color boundaries by "blending" opposing colors) normally reserved for Sega Genesis games. By blending adjacent pixels, the normally bright colors that populated Kirby's world are faded into a style that cleverly mimics a unique mixture of pastel drawings and sketchy scribbles. The detail-strewn backgrounds and exuberant character animations of Super Star are nowhere to be seen: everything is kept simple.

As much as I adore Super Star's explosion of colors and usage of CGI, there is no denying Dream Land 3 held the crown for being the most visually distinctive Kirby game for thirteen years. What amazes me most about the game is that it yet another juxtaposition: it pushes the Super Nintendo to its limits with a creative graphical process, but what is ultimately presented is something so purposely, deliberately soft that it looks as easy as a child's daydream. One may instantly think of the similarly pastel-driven nature of Yoshi's Island, but the two games only share similar backgrounds; the lively, animated spritework of Yoshi's Island are independent of the immaculate detail found in the background/foreground, while Dream Land 3 applies its blend of crayon and pastel to everything on the screen (aside from several of the pick-ups, which take on a simple 8-bit look). Dream Land 3's aesthetics have more in common with an infant's Winnie the Pooh blanket--subdued colors, traces of pastel, and character designs that instantly appeal on being "cute" as opposed to the more stocky, expression-driven characters of the past.

This is not to downplay the cuteness found in Kirby's first four years, but those games (save Super Star) were no different than the deformed, ambiguous 8-bit sprites of yesteryear. With Dream Land 3 arriving in an era where an abundance of detail left little imagination to the player, there is a very obvious aesthetic direction into the realm of overt cuteness that was never present before in the series -- forget the artstyle, just look at the beadiness of Rick the Hamster's eyes (or any character, really) or the lovey-dovey nature of Kirby and Chuchu's parasol cruise! Of course, Dream Land 3's irrelevance rendered any irritation vastly inferior to the vast disappointment met with Yoshi's Story -- another ill-fated cutesy platformer that came out not long afterwards--but I still imagine some frustration with the game was met with older audiences (even I confess to having my limits: I object to the name "Love-Love Stick", granted to the weapon Kirby wields to battle the final boss. I mean, seriously?)

Any qualms with cuteness are, however, ultimately nitpicks, for I find Dream Land 3 to be quite a charming looker. The backgrounds in particular I find interesting: a good chunk of  'em are no more detailed than the settings found in toddlers' picture books, but others get away with some surprising artistic choices, such as exclusively using watercolors to depict the molten-rock laden underground...

...to the pale birch trees resting near a shore. I've always associated these trees with something akin to sickly depression--peeling bark, y'know--and yet their presence within Dream Land 3 feels completely natural thanks to the similarly light pastel.

Indeed, the aquatic Ripple Fields world is host to some of Dream Land 3's strongest designs: including the aforementioned birch trees, the game presents more foreign locales with realistic lakesides and islands dotting the distance. It's the closest the series has ever traversed outside the boundaries of fantasy, providing a taste of something more akin to Donkey Kong Country 3 than anything in a bubbly children's game. The only representatives of the imagination are a stunning ocean-scenic temple home to cascading waterfalls--the veteran Nintendo fan can't help but ponder how such a concept could work in Zelda--and a pair of muffin-shaped islands surrounded by puffy clouds. As powerful as the temple level is solely on the grounds that its design has yet to be mimicked in future titles, the puffy islands remain my personal favorite background piece solely due an incredibly minor detail of absolutely no significance to the game itself, and yet my nostalgia for it is fierce.

Check out that house. Players have witnessed a similar detail in Kirby Super Star, but that ended up being the location of the heavily abridged Castle Lololo. Here? We never get a chance to drop in, and yet my young imagination was held captive by it. Who lives there? Why did they choose to live in the middle of an ocean? Was it a homage to Muten-Roshi's island in Dragon Ball? It is only a speck in the distance, yet it is the only drop of character placed within Dream Land 3's background props. Super Star's backgrounds were so luscious and beautiful that I immediately dove into the reverie they produced, yet here I contemplated and imagined. It bears for me the same enticing mystery of Super Mario Sunshine's book, one where I can have an eternity to craft an answer; an answer that I can continue to compose and revise much as I please.

So while the background don't get quite as CGI-intensive as Super Star, there are still some impressive effects going on with the foreground. Nothing that usually affects the actual game (unfortunate, but we'll get to that particular problem later), but still nice to look at. By far the most impressive is the forest level at the end of Grass Land, where the tree bushes transparently cover the level.

Complementing the muted graphics is an equally muted sound direction. I state the word "muted" with some difficulty, as the soundtrack frequently shifts between soft lullabies and hyper-frantic marathons, yet I can't help but notice just how soft the sound effects are. The explosions and rumbles that proliferated throughout Super Star are now relegated to simple pops and snaps, further reducing the frantic nature found before. The Shotzo cannons that frequently plague players are the best example of this; it's not like their barrage of cannonballs detonated with fury before, and yet it's suddenly so distinct when they audibly fire with all the force of a pebble dropping to the ground. The way Dream Land 3 commits to this soft nature--sound and graphics and even the impact of Kirby and co.'s attacks--is no doubt the reason why the game is so divisive, yet you cannot deny its dedication to remain that way throughout. My personal take? It's not perfect--I care not for the cheerier songs of the soundtrack--but I love the overall execution.

This unusually soft sound direction is why I've always been awed by the powerful roar that accompanies the game's level select screen, which presents Kirby's home planet Pop Star in the reaches of space. It's something that should be completely at odds for the setting: like everything else in Dream Land 3, the pastel-inspired stars would be more at home with glow in the dark stars decorating a baby's ceiling (the limited movement also calls to mind that of crib mobiles) than the eternally cold abyss of space. I've actually always been a little creeped out by how the game can instantaneously traverse on the boundaries of darkness--whether it be this sound or the theme of the final level--before going back its kid-friendly them as if nothing happened (going back to the final boss again: did I mention the boss in question spills and attacks with a red substance that's alluded to being blood? Yeah.)

Jun Ishikawa takes the helm once again for the soundtrack, though shifts the music style in accordance to traditional Kirby flair and the unprecedented soft aesthetic. Often Ishikawa appeals to the latter to some level of success -- the stronger emphasis on softer, relaxing tones leaves little room for the catchy hyperactivity of the past (as opposed to the balance found in earlier titles), but the soundtrack here emphasis a different sort of pleasantness hardly echoed before in Kirby. The softer themes found in, for example, Adventure's Rainbow Resort and Dream Land 2's Cloudy Park were deliberately majestic in their heart-soothing melodies that they were bound to make an impact on the player, yet Ishikawa takes a different route with Dream Land 3.

The theme of Dream Land 3's opening level--which you could label as the main theme of the game--is optimal for explaining this. While there are clear inspirations from Dream Land's Green Greens theme, (particularly the beginning), it's more lax than the typical cheery flair of Kirby. A good chunk of Dream Land 3's songs produce a more atmospheric quality that fit rather well within its aesthetic brand of watercolors and pastel. Atmospheric game music typically suffers from the unfortunate side-effect of being readily forgotten soon after playing (looking at you, Skyrim); make no mistake, while Dream Land 3 has the same issue, there are some standouts within its soundtracks. This particular song has always been one of my favorites, calling to mind a child merrily running through a wide, open field of dandelions.

I've also always been fond of this Ripple Field theme which, you guessed it, plays in the level starring the aforementioned house. It possesses a sense of urgency not unlike the island portion of Super Star's Revenge of Meta Knight, yet I further appreciate its echo to Dream Land's Float Islands's permeated nostalgia. However, I associate this song less with Dream Land's gooey warmness and more with a fleeting reminiscence: chasing for a hint of memory down the beach, something to jar the memory. Searching, finding for answers to a life-changing mystery. The house, maybe?

With this emphasis on softness through both graphics and music, the series' trademark sense of hyperactivity is lost to a more deliberate tranquility. I take no issue with this languidness by itself; indeed, I adore the graphics and I like the music well enough, and I appreciate what they set out to do. It can't be said that any other platformer in its age exuded this much pleasantness--however alien, yet perfectly natural to the world of Kirby--and the way it instills peace into the player is to be commended.

The problem here is the effect on gameplay. 

Back when I reviewed Kirby's Epic Yarn upon its release over three years ago, I described it as something of a "relaxation simulator", as the game's alluring yarn-inspired visuals send the player into a blissful, nostalgic state. If that sounds familiar, it's because Dream Land 3 works the same way; unfortunately, it is only to a considerably lesser degree. Given the premises involved with Epic Yarn (Kirby's transformation into yarn, the technological advancements relative to the time of its release (gorgeous felt effects) and what was expected of the series (Kirby's transformations), the Wii game had to innovate with foreground to prove its new aesthetic would provide a compelling game experience. Dream Land 3 isn’t required to do so and takes little risk to expand on its own identity, which admittedly would be fine if it didn't result in weaker platforming.

In fact, it can actually get downright lazy. The perfect example is found at the first level of Cloudy Park; take a gander at that screenshot above and note the barren, vastly uninteresting landscape and boring background that composes its beginning. It remains sterile throughout, only bothering to add in pointless dips in the landscape and a wholly uninteresting outdoor tunnel sequence. What makes it even worse is the level waits until the very end to utilize the world's "sky" theme (the transparency of the clouds in the picture above shift into solid versions, obscuring Kirby's location from the player), rendering the level a rather bad first impression for the new world.

So yes, it does have the same stage design problems as Dream Land 2, but doesn't start out as being nearly as brain dead. Unlike that game's gradual ascension into quality, Dream Land 3 suffers from uneven level design throughout and never lands on a consistent state until the late-game Iceberg world (which is great). We can be thankful it also never reaches a consistency of tedium, but for as much as the game commits to simplicity, one can't help but wish Dream Land 3 pushed the admirable effort found in its graphics fully across the board.

Unlike its Game Boy predecessor, however, I am quicker to forgive Dream Land 3 not entirely on the basis of its glorious art, but for expanding upon what was fun in the previous title: the partner system. Rick, Coo, and Kine all return to grant Kirby their power-siphoning prowess, complete with the same repertoire of powers found in Dream Land 2 that, while limited in number (particular when, again, compared to Super Star), are a blast to use. While they're still a blast to use, they find themselves outshone by three more newcomers: Nago the Cat, Pitch the Bird, and Chuchu the...Octopus? Squid? Blob?

As the three original partners still retain their Game Boy abilities, the Super Nintendo-powered feats of Kirby's new friends provide far more attractive choices. Rather than simply exuding Copy Abilities from their bodies, the newer trio instantly appeal on their colorful takes on old favorites, whether it be joyful playness(Kirby and Chuchu merry-go-round in an upside-down spinning parasol), comedic (Nago repeatedly slams the shit out of Stone Kirby, a personal favorite of mine despite its short range), or just plain cool (Kirby manually guides an electrified Pitch via remote control).

Dream Land 3 is also host to its own unique Copy Ability: Clean, in which Kirby sweeps up foes with a broom. Much like Parasol, its tongue-in-cheek nature makes for some great laughs, as used by itself or through Kirby's partners when they're mercilessly slaughtering Waddle Dees. Particular standouts include Nago (who utilizes Kirby as a washing rag and slides on the ground), Kine (who turns Kirby into a plunger just because), and Chuchu (who rides on Kirby transformed into a magic broom).
 

The only faulty newcomer in Kirby's camaderie is the CPU/2P-controlled counterpart Gooey, who I still struggle to make sense of. The character is a visually endearing counterpart to Kirby--what with the dopey countenance on his doughy round shape, yet I care not for the gameplay execution; single-player wise, anyway. He's useful for 2P play since he can mimic Kirby's Copy Abilities, but as a summoned CPU, he's an inconvenient burden that divides half of Kirby's health. This would be a fair trade-off if he wasn't constantly gobbling up everything in Kirby's path (thus stealing any potential Copy Abilities you'd want to obtain), and he can't even utilize Copy Abilities when in the control of the CPU. He was better left in Dream Land 2's bag.
 
Yet I still occasionally summon him for kicks, regardless. Part of why Dream Land 3's aesthetic ultimately charms me despite its mistakes is that I find the uncanny jolliness of its cast--whether it's the aforementioned merry-go-round parasol of Kirby/Chuchu and pretty much anything related to Nago or Kine--rather hysterical when contrasted to the game's bleaker scenery. Dream Land 3 can toss avalanches or giants boulders at me and I simply just don't give a shit about the danger presented because I'm waddling away inside the intestines of a fish while taking the form of a plunger.

Indeed, many of the powers granted to Kirby and pals never reach the heights of flashiness found in Super Star, but that's okay. Dream Land 3's slower pace works very well to the advantage of its graphical/sound themes in framing the game as an epic adventure but something more like a walk in the park. A dash along the beach. A trip to the sky. Another lazy Sunday afternoon. It's languid, but it's a soothing sort of languid that echoes the faint nostalgia within the deeper recesses of your brain. For me, I'm reminded of the blank, silent observations during my adventures in the outdoors, or the one family walk I had some fifteen years back.

It's why I'm so fond of the game's sub-quest regarding the collectible Heart Stars, which involve solving stage-specific tasks such as reuniting a toad family, retrieving a juggler's blocks, and helping an angel find her wings. The results are genuinely charming in the same manner of Zelda: The Minish Cap's Kinstones in establishing a connection during a chance encounter with a familiar face (Nintendo cameos such as running into Samus from Metroid) or expanding upon the game's cast (Rick the Hamster has a girlfriend?). Even from a pure gameplay perspective they can actually get rather difficult, and Dream Land 3 is at its strongest when the levels revolve around them. A personal favorite involves a cameo of the NES R.O.B peripheral, where you have to search and assemble its parts within a pyramid that's host to backgrounds straight out of Earthbound's battle sequences. You could always just ignore them, I suppose, but then you get the Bad Ending and those always make you feel guilty.

By itself, Dream Land 3 is merely an interesting experiment that's sole ambition revolves around its aesthetics, which even on their own accord have succeeded in turning off a fair number of Kirby fans. Much like Dream Land 2, I cannot ignore the flaws that could potentially break an earnest game, yet I cannot bring myself to take them too seriously. Whatever laziness it produces within its own aspiration is overriden by just how damn pleasant it is to play and even witness, and I am unable to resist its unique brand of watercolor placidity. An objective evaluation could settle for it being just another good Kirby romp, yet I'll admit my own bias in what it sets out to do elevates my opinion to Dream Land 3 achieving the barest minimum of greatness.

Ten Years of Kirby ~Reverie 5~ Kirby Super Star

With the imminent advent of 3D gaming via the Nintendo 64 and the Sony Playstation, the end of the beloved Super Nintendo was nigh. As the industry paved the way for polygonal graphics and three-dimensional movement, the loss of sprite-filled 2D video games was already rendering feelings of poignancy among long-time gamers; however, as the magazine Electronic Gaming Monthly stated with poetic glee in their tenth-anniversary reflection on the Super Nintendo, the console's soul still burned. While its support was about to be brought to a close, it is noted to be the last Nintendo home console to be sufficiently supplied with a healthy game library straight up to the end (as opposed to the future growing pains and third-party screw-ups to be found just around the corner).

And what a library it was! Speaking from the sole perspective of Nintendo-published titles, there was not a blemish to be found. Its iterations of Zelda, Super Mario, and Metroid are often cited to be the series' finest, with all three considered to be virtually perfect. New franchises were born in the form of Mario Kart, Star Fox, and Donkey Kong Country, and all readily captured the hearts of gamers. No game bared the mark of a rushed-release or a game-killing flaw, as Nintendo finally perfected the reputation of endlessly polishing their titles (part of the secret to their fabled "magic"). It was very much a golden era: one where Nintendo still held their ground with a superbly fun mixture of graphic-pushing technology, precise controls and pitch-perfect gameplay, crafting a healthy library of instant classics.

In the mid-90's, Masahiro Sakurai happened to be working on a masterwork himself. While the basis for this project remains unknown, a brief look at his cited production history can offer a few clues. Following the console-pushing success of Kirby's Adventure and the spin-off Kirby's Pinball Land, Sakurai perhaps realized he didn't want to be tied to this franchise forever. Before gradually lending the reigns to HAL Laboratory's other teams (a process that initially began with 1995's Kirby's Dream Land 2) and moving on to other genres, he aspired to to leave a mark that matched his growing ambition. Much like how Kirby's Adventure impressed years after the arrival of the SNES, this title would be a proper send-off to the fading console by building upon where Adventure left off: jam-packing the game with a flood of content, gorgeous eye candy that pushed the system to its limits, and a veritable assortment of gameplay mechanics for the player to endlessly experiment with.

Seeing as how Kirby Super Star remains the unmitigated masterpiece of the entire series, I'd say his hard work paid off.

-------------------------

Dubbing Kirby Super Star as Kirby's magnum opus is perhaps understandably suspect when not just reviewing the progression the series has made to this day, but within it's own composition. The overall length is short even by the low standards Kirby holds in that regard, is not by any stretch of the imagination the hardest Kirby game to complete (let alone achieving a 100% score), and appeals mostly to younger, beginner games. Yet for all its brevity and easiness, the game is still lauded as the paramount adventure for the pink puffball, with guaranteed spots on "The Best of Super Nintendo" lists and even Nintendo games in general. But why? How could such a brief, fragmented title stand along the likes of Super Metroid and A Link to the Past?

I mentioned in my Kirby's Adventure editorial how that game could be considered the true blueprint of Kirby. Super Star takes that blueprint and transcends it into something else entirely: the first of Sakurai's mentality of cohesive works. As much as I adore Adventure's amusement-park atmosphere (which, yes, has its own breed of cohesion as well), it cannot surpass Super Star in one vital area: a system-pushing presentation. Super Star is not constrained to any of the graphical, aural, or technological limitations that the NES suffered from, and pulls out all the stops to present a richly presented video game that screams ambition in every one of its circuit board pores. The gameplay? A ridiculously elaborated selection of Copy Abilities. The graphics? A flawless mixture of sprite-animated characters and CGI effects and backgrounds. The soundtrack? A booming symphony that one could swear is orchestrated. All of it comes together to form a game that flawlessly produces an ambitious theme of penultimate action, perhaps to express Sakurai's send-off to his very first character.

This was the model that Sakurai would eventually become famous for, and he strove to match this level of gorgeous, chock-full cohesion in all of his following titles. His most famous works--the Super Smash Bros. titles, of course-- are the unabashed ambassadors for his standard, what with them aiming for a mountain of content that upon first glance comes across as being completely unnecessary and parallel to the core fighting system; however; they're integrated so well into the themes of Nintendo nostalgia that the games would feel bare-bones without them (the first game doesn't quite adhere to this model, but one can definitely argue its battle system owes to that of an advanced Super Star). What could be a simple, one-button racing game is transformed into a mode-filled, reward-focused aerial racer (Kirby Air Ride), and what would be a perfectly serviceable on-rails shooter is supplied with dozens upon dozens of weapon types and a full-fledged multiplayer mode, all while juggling with the task of reinvigorating a world that hasn't been visited in nearly two decades (Kid Icarus: Uprising).

So, good for Sakurai, then! But what exactly makes Super Star cohesive? Perhaps you caught sight of the introductory box art's hook: "8 GAMES IN ONE!", it claims. Super Star isn't composed of one decently-sized campaign, but rather six main adventures, with two extra mini-games and an unlockable boss rush bringing the grand total up to nine games. Nine games. Nine games that are all compatible with multiplayer, are all just long enough for an afternoon game session for yourself or with your friends (save for maybe The Great Cave Offensive, of which is packaged with a convenient save system), and most of which come into their own as genuine entries into the Kirby canon.

The choice to immediately introduce such an ambitious cohesion onto the player produces an instant addiction, for the powerful presentation is carried over into the actual gameplay. For example, take what is accomplished with the Copy Abilities. Unlike Kirby's Adventure, the game is not satisfied with simply color-coding Kirby's skin in accordance to whatever power he adsorbs, as he has to wear these adorable hats specially designed for nearly every ability. Neither will the game stand for abilities to be limited to a single action as per Adventure; no, they have to operate as akin to that of a beginner's fighting game, with dozens of quick, simple inputs to initiate flashy maneuvers.

The classic Beam ability is the perfect model: in Adventure, the ability constitutes of an energy beam chain that Kirby fires in a close-range arc, typically defeating his foes in one blow. This arc maneuver is retained in Super Star but is noticeably weaker, for foes hardly flinch at all. While still decent for fending off a mob attack from the front, it's far more satisfactory to utilize the rest of Beam's options. Holding the attack button lets Kirby channel power to fire off a massive beam blast, and a dash attack produces a cone-shaped beam of beads. Attack from the air to unleash a scattering shot, or grab a close foe to finish them off with a point-blank blast.

Much like Adventure, the selection of Copy Abilities offers a robust balance of viable move-sets and gimmicks. While sadly some of the more unique moves--such as Ball and Laser--didn't make the returning cut, taking their place are some equally innovative selection of moves: Bomb, Fighter, Wing, Suplex, Jet, Mirror, Ninja, Yo-Yo, and Plasma. It's difficult to select an absolute favorite of the new bunch, what with Plasma and and Mirror providing the graphical bombast with their projectile stretchiness while Bomb, Yo-Yo, and Fighter excel at erasing crowds and bosses with their punchy, direction-driven prowess. If forced to choose, I do perhaps find myself leaning towards the latter not just for the obvious Earthbound influence in the Yo-Yo power but their fitting role within the game's overall emulation of a beat-'em-up.

Even aesthetically, the abilities serve as delicious eye-candy. Can Stone claim to be one of the more mechanically interesting powers? No, but boy is it fascinating to watch it morph from 8-ton weights to the rare Mario statue.

Rounding off the Copy Abilities is a beloved feature that has yet to be replicated in any Kirby game since: the helper system, which also functions as the game's main draw for multiplayer. Through discarding a Copy Ability, Kirby can conjure up friendlier facsimiles of his foes to fight alongside him, of which are either controlled by the CPU or another player. Everything about this feature is constructed with convenience in mind: the helper has access to the entire moveset of whatever Ability that enemy is tied to (for example, a Parasol Waddle Dee has access to the entire move repertoire for, well, Parasol), extra movement/transportation inputs exist to assist in keeping up with Kirby's superior movement, and switching between different copy abilities consists of just a quick transfer between whatever Kirby possesses and the partner.

It goes without saying I could probably gush for just about forever in how Super Star utilizes Copy Abilities, and why shouldn't I? Their obvious heft in both design and execution is one of the primary reasons why Super Star holds its legendary status, for it was not repeated in the following years Yes, proper credit must be given to the "blending" mechanics found in Dream Land 3 and 64: The Crystal Shards, but neither game comes even close to running the gamut of move executions as opposed to Super Star, and it wouldn't be until eight years later when Amazing Mirror traversed back to this model (and even then, it can be argued it pulls off only a fraction of Super Star's depth). With a number of Copy Abilities that was almost toe-to-toe with Adventure's collection along with the depth of the combat system and the presence of helpers, Super Star was granted a sense of a sense of exclusivity that wouldn't be matched until 2011's Return to Dream Land.

With how enemies are now designed to a tad more durable in receiving hits, it's obvious the game was designed for experimentation as opposed to Adventure's philosophy of designing levels around the Copy Abilities. While there are some callbacks to that regard along with some fun level gimmicks (mine-cart riding!), most levels serve as plain testing grounds for Kirby's wondrous feats. This isn't to say the level design isn't completely mercenary, what with the customary scrolling screens of death and creative uses of aquatic air pockets and gusty wind currents, but I would have a difficult time arguing the depth applied to the combat was similarly attributed to the platforming (aside from the mouth-watering aesthetics they are composed of, of which we'll visit in just a bit).

Of course, this underemphasis on level design is of little consequence, for the central gameplay of Kirby's powers are too much fun for anyone to care. What's also key is the ambition of scenario found even in its beginnings, with the opening Spring Breeze being entirely composed of a revisit to Kirby's Dream Land, the very first Kirby game. While this abridged remake won't last longer than a fifteen-twenty minute play session, it's as if Sakurai was aware the Copy Ability had already rendered the classic Game Boy title rather obsolete, and he thus saw it fit to pay tribute to his first video game by granting it a brief resurrection of sorts. For all its brevity, it's a rather fine masterwork of presentation: observe how the original monochrome world depicted below...

...flourishes in the 16-bit era's achievement of fusing sprite-work with non-intrusive workings of CGI.

This isn't to downplay the obvious charm found in the original, but by God is it a stunning transformation. Everything from the character models to the background is such a delicious blend of primary colors, immaculate lively sprite-work and masterful traces of CGI. The screen above is a remarkable display of what is by far my favorite element of Super Star's aesthetic: the backgrounds. This re-imagination of Dream Land's landmark checkered plains into soothing, inviting woodlands complete with mysterious atmospheric phenomena is an such an enticing invitation into the realm of fantasy, practically begging the imagination to dive in and further pave what may lie beyond the bathing light, further integrating the player's interaction.

Here's an even more impressive example: Dream Land's original depiction of the night section within Bubbly Clouds' final act, of which is appealing in much the same charm as the warm design of a baby's blanket:

..and observe as how it's revamped into a visual masterpiece the Game Boy could never even dream of: 

Forgive the sudden explosion in size (how I wish I had my own screen capture device!), but screenshots alone cannot capture the glow of the starry background (complete with rainbow Kirby constellations) and the CGI-animated bells swinging about. It must be played to be truly believed.

The sprite-work cannot be ignored either. Their bright, primary colors and luscious, rounded look instantly pop out, rounded off with a fine sheen on their bodies and eyes. At the risk of sounding like a disturbed individual, I'd also like to state they look flat-out delicious. No, this does not mean I want to literally feast upon King Dedede's flesh, but I share the same feelings of hunger as I do for Eiichiro Oda's One Piece manga, in that there's such a palatable thickness to the artwork that it begs to be bitten into. Regardless of the boundaries between my mouth and the confines of printed ink/programming code, I can at least rely on my eyes to pick up the slack.

 

And the music! The music! It strikes a delicate, perfect balance between pieces of soothing, imaginative warmth and genuinely orchestrated, dramatic flair that perfectly complements the game's imagination and ambition. Admittedly, I would be perhaps hard-pressed to say Kirby Super Star is in possession of the finest soundtrack SNES--the presence of Yasunori Mitsuda's freshman effort on Chrono Trigger, the hallowed tunes of Donkey Kong Country, the laid-back nostalgia of Earthbound, and countless others provide such stiff competition for that title--but Super Star's aptitude for imbuing its songs with the aforementioned contrast may as well land it as my personal favorite. I have yet to encounter any other game on the system with such graceful balance in shifting between two entirely separate pieces of music, as it treats each and every one of its tracks with the same dignity. Even the most innocent of songs (such as the one above and below) reach heights higher than they should, right down to the hypnotic, genuine desire of the Game Over themes to convince the player continue. I instead sit there and dream.

Perhaps part of its peculiar origins lies within its choice of composers. Jun Ishikawa returns again to score, but he's joined by one Dan Miyakawa. Information on the man is scarce within the confines of the English language, as Kirby Super Star was the only video game for which he provided music. Rumors within the Kirby fanbase insist he has been involved with the orchestral field, yet a further analysis here reveals his involvement within many compilation albums and some anime works. Most, if not all, involve a particular penchant for string arrangements.

I cannot confess to be familiar with Miyakawa's work, for the majority of his musical works exist in areas I am not familiar at all with (excluding his brief contribution to the anime Aria the Animation, of which I'm still trying desperately to remember); unfortunately, nor can I claim to know why Sakurai chose him for this project, for I'm unable to find anything else Miyakawa's done prior to the year 2001. It's not as if the man--Sakurai, I mean-- has made unusual selections for his development staff (the primary case being Super Smash Bros. Brawl, with the team behind Grandia serving as the main development while Nobuo Uematsu and Kazushige Nojima, respectively, contributed to music and scenario). Miyakawa's presence in the development of Kirby Super Star especially mystifies me: why did Sakurai select a man completely unfamiliar with video game development (at least, I'm assuming) to contribute to what was to be the ultimate Kirby game? Was he simply just a fan of his music? What was the collaboration between him and Jun Ishikawa like? Did they coach each other? It's a mystery I feel I'll never get the answer to, yet I cannot help but be continually fascinated by his credit. Regardless of his actual background, if his unique presence was the reason Super Star's soundtrack turned out so splendidly, then I am forever grateful for his contribution.

 

 

Take this rearrangement of the Bubbly Clouds theme, of which remains my favorite tune in this brief adventure (Spring Breeze, that is). While obviously not one of the game's more dramatic pieces, it still astounds me as to how easily I can lose myself within its dreamy embrace. It is composed of not choking cuteness, but of a fanciful nostalgia that instantly whisks us away. It's also the perfect complement for the setting, a dreamy mixture of clouds and starry skies that coexist without any care for the laws of nature, as they join together solely for the growing mind of the young child. Go ahead and lose yourself within the above background shot while listening to it, why don't you!

 

While we are on the subject of music, I may as well state that while unfortunately I cannot go over the briefer mini-game titles for the sake of time, I am nonetheless required to touch upon what I consider the ultimate abnormality of Super Star: the Gourmet Race theme. For all its wild energy, it is by a wide margin the boppiest of the game's soundtrack, signifying not dramatic action but that of an innocent eating competition between Kirby and King Dedede. The sub-game (let alone the theme) is not by any means representative of Super Star, yet for reasons I cannot and probably never will comprehend it was chosen in the very same year of release to represent Super Star in Japan's annual Orchestral Game Concert. The aural transformation from a juvenile race to a fantasy epic is nothing sort of breathtaking, and the two versions continue to co-exist without the slightest trace of irony or out-of-place discomfort.

But too long I have lingered already on Spring Breeze! The presence of Dynablade--an original counterpart to Spring Breeze that centers around Kirby's quest to fend off the titular giant bird--gives the player some more breathing room after the former's intense sugar rush. Make no mistake: that the sub-game consists of yet another four levels technically renders it the same size as the Dream Land remake, yet thanks to a charming map and some sprawling landscapes, there is far more room for experimentation and secrets.

I consider Dynablade to be the symbol of the game's philosophy regarding level design, in which its only purpose is to facilitate and promote one's expertise in plowing through the citizens of Dream Land with Copy Abilities. The following games have this too, but their emphasis on time limits and other gimmicks leave Dynablade a more rawer experience into the meat of the gameplay. Think of it like this: Spring Breeze is the hook that captures with the appetizing, wider scope of player inputs and flashy maneuvers. Having been successfully caught, Dynablade provides the grounds for easing the player into figuring out its intricacies and mechanics. Of course, the Copy Abilities are are nothing complex, but one must bear mind of the game's inclination towards beginners. Am I overstating Dynablade's role? Perhaps, but I cannot think of another reason as to why it mirrors the four-level structure of Spring Breeze. They are the preludes to what are the ultimate acts of Super Star, in which 1-2 hour long adventures seem larger than life itselff.

It's for this reason that the following, beefier titles are often associated with Super Star from its older fans; in particular, Revenge of Meta Knight. And why shouldn't it? The sub-game, of which pits Kirby against the series' dubious anti-hero Meta Knight and his takeover of Dream Land, embraces a level of action-packed, race-against-the clock intensity that the series never embraced hitherto. The normally-cheery aesthetic is also suddenly thrown for a loop, with 80% percent of it taking place upon Meta Knight's aerial fortress Halberd. While the infamous dialogue chatter of Meta Knight and his henchman break up the action with the essential cheese, the overall atmosphere is clearly uncharted territory for Kirby, with explosions, dreary machinery, and a booming soundtrack composing what is an enticing, juxtaposed blend of light-hearted heroics and badass 90's action films.

It's a concept that by all means should not work when applied to Kirby context. The character had never before undergone anything so...I wouldn't say dark, but something so military/weapon-intensive--and yet, not only does the final product end feeling completely natural, somehow Revenge of Meta Knight turned out to be one of Kirby's most famous outings. The ultimate showcase for the game's theme of "action Action ACTION!!!", the sudden thrusting of Kirby into a raging storm of mechs and counterattacks and climatic chase sequences raises the question: does the kid-friendly look and feel of the titular character mean he has to stay exclusive to similarly kid-friendly environments? With the previous home console installment focusing on hyperactivity, it's only natural the sequel would build upon that factor in settings that further heighten the sense of achievement, even if it takes characters into unfamiliar terrain. We had Kirby and pals storming a castle at the climax of Kirby's Dream Land 2, yes, but that particular sequence never dreamed of matching the dynamic nature of Revenge of Meta Knight.

It's obvious, then, as to why this is the multiplayer game of choice for Kirby Super Star. Unlike it's objective-based successors, the players are thrown into a chaotic maelstrom of combative activity that--barring some puzzles involving switches--doesn't require anything of the player but to demolish everything in their path. Granted, there is a time limit abiding to each of the sub-game's sections, but the intense ever-shifting nature of the entire fiasco allows that limit to be firmly embedded into its overall intensity. Needless to say, the entire scenario is undeniably riveting, what with being repeatedly shot off the warship's deck and systematically taking down each and every one of its major weapons, all enthralling to the mind of a child (taking down a flying warship!) and continuing to hold dear as they grow ever older.

Yet of course, the light-hearted charm of Kirby seeps in to lighten up the mood via one of the rare occasions of text dialogue in the Kirby universe. The sub-game is frequently supplied with background chatter from the antagonists (Meta Knight and his crew), of who comment on Kirby's progress through shrieking, panic, and shriveling naivete. It is a concept I adore and one that gets the job done, yet remains one of the only areas I take nitpicks against Super Star. If there is one issue I take with Kirby's treatment of its characters regardless of their brief narrative roles, I find myself conflicted with how certain figures frequently shift sides between a bullying antagonist to a misunderstood anti-hero or even transform into a do-gooder protagonist; in this case, this sub-game's depiction of Meta Knight provides a tough, retrospective pill to swallow thanks to his more recent heroic deeds. We can guess that he is perhaps testing Kirby within the events of Kirby's Adventure, and yet here he's suddenly pissed off at how goddamn lazy Dream Land is and decides to change all that with an airship invasion. It was quite an easy mistake to brand him as an outright villain, and was no doubt the reason why I had reservations against his animated depiction for television (although not as much as that fucking horrible Spanish accent they branded onto his vocal cords, but that's a story for another time).

But I digress. I do enjoy the comedy acts of his fellow soldiers; in particular, the pompous vulture captain that never again makes another appearance (aside from the DS remake, in which he is graced with the name of Captain Vul) and the random inclusion of a cowardly Waddle Dee adorning a sailor's cap. No, we also do not know why Waddle Dees come to Kirby for their inevitable slaughter, but I'm always delighted whenever a character is instilled within a member of their species. We do not know if this particular Waddle Dee ever survives the collapse of the Halberd, having chosen to stay behind to witness Meta Knight's conclusive battle with Kirby (at this point, I'd like to take the opportunity to share a brief childhood misunderstanding, in which I thought the character was vocalizing the sound of his heartbeat: Th-Thump. Th-Thump.)  I also appreciate the name-dropping of a single location from Adventure, however brief it is.

Lip-service must also be paid to the booming score, of which perfectly represents the urging, sweeping attack on a mechanically armed fortress. The song above is more recognizable for being the first to play in Meta Knight, but I have a fonder appreciation for the below track. It is the only element of Meta Knight that carries even a whiff of darkness (with only one other song in the entirety of Super Star echoing its intensity), insisting an emphasis onto the danger the Halberd possess to an idyllic wonderland. While I'm glad Meta Knight carefully constructs a fusion of an upbeat invasion, this one song allows the sub-game to temporarily transcend into a more sober realm.

 

Yet even with Meta Knight's penchant for explosions, I cannot help but favor The Great Cave Offensive for its scope. Kirby's expeditions within a grand underground labyrinth provide what is by far and away the largest sub-game. It has all the bells and whistles of a satisfying epic that is composed of an elementary concept ("Kirby gets lost in a mysterious labyrinth and finds treasure!"), as unlike the threat of wide-spread hunger and a military attack on Dream Land, nothing is at imminent stake within the events of Cave Offensive aside from Kirby's sense of direction, and he seems more concerned with gathering riches than finding a way out. This is not to criticize the sense of completion Cave Offensive imposes onto the player--after all, what's important is whether or not the game is fun-- yet it's nothing sort of a wonder that such a neutral affair is rendered as an epic odyssey, thanks to Super Star's extraordinary sense of art direction and orchestral sound.

Enriching this scope is the goal of collecting sixty treasures, all of which are cleverly hidden and are assigned specific values of cash value to amount to a concluding high score. This isn't the first time Kirby's installed a focus on collecting trinkets (as seen with the Rainbow Shards of Kirby's Dream Land 2) yet unlike the look-alike Crystal Shards and Gear Pieces of the future, the treasure scattered throughout the mysterious underworld are all wholly unique, ranging from model airships and katanas to even humorous duds such as a saucepan and, uh, an actual bomb dud. Yet even then Cave Offensive is a large departure from anything else in the series, as it's constructed solely on not completing levels but just finding treasure and gaining high scores. So isolated is its focus that only other Kirby game to provide a similar experience is Kirby and The Amazing Mirror, of which actually constructs maps not entirely similar to Metroid (whether or not either game trumps the other is purely a matter of taste; Super Star's treasure rewards with charming treasures and high scores, whereas Amazing Mirror provides vitality upgrades, unlockables, and color cosmetics)

And yes, of course such an objective must feature Nintendo cameos; in particular, out of all these fun references I have decided to share what is perhaps the most sacred of the treasures Kirby discovers. It's weight of gold may not be equal to that of  Zelda's Triforce, but we all know that true value lies within the beating, tender heart of a familiar alien species. Boing-zoom!

This deliberate shifting of core gameplay from a beat-'em-up/goal-directed focus to a spelunking-driven objective provides such scope never before seen in Kirby. While perhaps not as deeply intricate as the depths of Super Metroid's Planet Zebes, all four of the main sections remain connected as opposed to being divided into separate levels. It's for this reason that despite Cave Offensive being available for play before Meta Knight, I always reverse their positions for my playthroughs. Despite the night-and-day difference between the intensity of their respective scenarios, the sprawling grand nature of Cave Offensive grants it such heft that it seems larger in every possible way. In this regard, I owe its success to what is none other than a masterful sense of art direction and sound, of which are so perfectly rich and grand to the eyes and ears. Take, for example, the above screenshot depicting the Crystal Field section, and attempt to endure the impossible task of not losing yourself into its shimmering depths. A mixture of shiny CGI and lighting effects clash brilliantly with the immaculate spritework, as crystal-filled aquatic currents litter the cavern.

Composing what is partially responsible for The Great Cave Offensive's scope: an orchestral rendition of the Green Greens theme that opened Kirby's Dream Land so long ago. Taking on a magnificently majestic tone, we gain not a pretentious glorifying of a children's gaming series but instead what I perceive as a celebration of how far said series has come. What started out as a title aimed squarely for beginners had grown into a veritable franchise that anyone can enjoy to the fullest thanks to the maxed-out workings of the SNES hardware, and boy are we left for the better because of it. Even disregarding any symbolism, the segues between a grand tour and a booming finale stroke the imagination just enough to bring its accompanying background settings to life, and I cannot imagine a more fitting theme for the job. The same theme is utilized for the concluding Mystery Paradise setting, which...well, take a gander at the below screen and judge for yourself in how beautifully it's complemented.

 

I do need to touch upon the other main theme of Cave Offensive, which actually happens to be one that kicks off the game. If there is indeed any intensity to match the entirety of Meta Knight and its successors, let it be this percussion-filled piece of danger and excitement. I claim to have never watched a single Indiana Jones film, but given their fame attributed to 80's childhoods I imagine their soundtracks to have much the same influence as this did to me.

 

I could also talk about Cave Offensive all day, but I fear in outweighing what is already a very large article, so I'll round off its overview with what stands in stunning contrast to its grand specters: the Save Huts. The one depicted above has always been my personal favorite: we do not know why an ancient tower standing erect in the depths of a murky cavern holds a room that bears witness into a sun-baked forest, but it pokes at our imagination. Each and every one of the cabins are also blessed with a warm lullaby that fans of a certain smashing crossover will no doubt recognize, and one that I continue to cherish.

When Super Star concludes with Milky Way Wishes, we have long since fallen under the game's spell. The finale is composed of such color, such inspired structures of the mind that I find it impossible to describe. I am loathe to spoil anything regarding the events of Kirby's voyage into the stars, and would implore those not familiar with the sub-game to discover its treasured idiosyncrasies for themselves. However, I must share the theme song for the game's final boss. It signals a genuine nightmare, pervasive in all space and ready to pounce at a moment's notice. It may very be the finest final boss theme on the SNES, and we are all the better for it.

In an era where constant replayability was cherished due to shorter lengths, Super Star is nothing sort of a platforming/action hybrid godsend. It's cohesion feels completely natural, as every subsequent game builds upon its predecessor through longer durations and introducing more involved objectives, producing a legitimate sense of progression. Save for the Gourmet Race, Samurai Kirby, and Megaton Punch mini-games, the titles all share the beefed up Kirby tropes and sequences. Are they too short? Perhaps, but that works out in their favor. It's optimal for speedruns (Great Cave Offensive in particular is a popular choice for this), multiplayer outings, and a lonely afternoon.

You ever play through something like, say, Zelda, and find yourself saying "You know, this whole game is great and all, but I'd love to just skip to my favorite parts"? Kirby Super Star is the embodiment of that wish made into reality. With the game being constructed around a "Best of Kirby" philosophy, their state of being condensed is a deliberate quality to urge the player to replay them over and over. And it works. Everything from the Cave Offensive's scope to Meta Knight's warships to even Spring Breeze's rebranding of Dream Land present a cohesive form of pure gaming bliss, and much like Sakurai's later works, it never grows tired.

It is, for the lack of a better word, magic.

------

 

In the foreword to the Something Under the Bed is Drooling collection of Bill Watterson's Calvin and Hobbes strips, cartoonist Pat Oliphant praises the successes of Watterson, labeling him an alchemist who has perfected the comic formula. He also repeatedly questions the reader if they want magic, for there is no better place to look than they book they held. Much of his brief, verbose essay flew over my head as a child, but it was that question and the concluding "this book is magic" that caught my attention. If I was to make anything of this essay, my young brain decided, it was to conclude that whatever this magic was, it had to have been not only the source of my enjoyment with the books but with my identification with Calvin. His red-cheeked bouts of anger and how he could earnestly believe he could get dressed for school by sliding into his clothes down the stairs were not at all unfamiliar to me, and I took Oliphant's mystifying--if indeed non-readable--essay with great heft.

It's this same sort of magic associated with Nintendo games; "Nintendo Magic", if you will. Fans cite this magic as to why they continue to play Nintendo games decades after their initial releases, and why they stick with with the company  Are we to suddenly expect game developers--grown adults who have long since been divorced from the magic of childhood--to suddenly tap into that very essence to compose endless strings of programming, as if it were as simple as the press of a button? Are every single one of them truly guided into making video games solely to appeal to our wistful desires? It is rather foolhardy to believe any video game company--even with just the example of Nintendo--would appeal to nostalgia solely for our sake instead of an ulterior motive that has an affinity with the color green.

And yet, why do we expect it in the first place? Yes, we cling to these characters and video games as if they are our beloved stuffed animals, but I doubt we would still do so if they were falling apart. Childish as it sounds, a tiny part of us still believes in the magic's existence because no other company puts such dedication and effort into endlessly polishing their games, from the perfectly-timed expressions of their characters to the various references found hidden in their carefully planned game soundtracks to the tiniest of insignificant, yet beloved secrets in your average Mario level. No company is perfect, and I would be lying if Nintendo has never released clunkers in their lifetime (ever since the release of Metroid: Other M, they've seemed rather dedicated to annually releasing a new franchise entry that completely reverses what made them fun in the first place), but there's a reason why they're almost never absent from countless GOTY lists: they design their games with the philosophy of putting gameplay and presentation first to properly ease their consumers in. Regardless of their massive fuck-up that is the Wii U, I still look to their products as the ultimate expression of entertainment magic.

As a child, I just naturally assumed this magic to spring from Nintendo's genuine desire to spread magic, which was unfairly ignored by the common misconception that their games were solely for children. By "magic", I refer to what I had begun to siphon from Kirby's Adventure and  Super Smash Bros. Melee: the "nostalgia", I had dubbed it. The reveries that had emerged from staring into the silent abyss of Adventure's arena matches and the isolated quaintness of the park in Melee's All-Star mode presented such awe and beauty the likes of which I had never encountered before, and I was enraptured in the task of discovering more like it. Young as I was, I was not quite blind to the concept of corporate greed (I distinctly recall being convinced there was some sort of conspiracy against the recognition of Earthbound), but I refused to believe the likes of Melee and Earthbound---of which presented such love and character in every stitch of their programming--were created with the sole object of money in mind, and I looked to Nintendo as not just some toy company, but creators of realms that swept me away with a sigh.

It's for this reason that I continue, and probably always will, uphold Kirby Super Star as the epitome of video game magic. This statement is a close call: Earthbound's innate ability to connect players young and old into a world of wistful nostalgia is a quality I will always treasure, and I may as well admit that as glorious as the products of a young mind's active imagination can be, it would be foolhardy to claim they can just as easily be applied to the world at large (as opposed to what anyone at any age can discover just as easily; i.e., Earthbound). Yet from the year I had purchased Super Star to this very day, there is a specific quality in it that continues to elude me, continues to surprise me, and may continue to stump me until the end of my life.

So where do I begin? In the midst of my fascination with Super Smash Bros. Melee's orchestras and Nintendo nostalgia, here came along its 16-bit precedent that aimed for the same purpose. Much like Kirby's Adventure, I had discovered a relic of an ancient time that was created for the children of the past, and I delighted in holding a secret time capsule that most of my peers would never understand or ever witness. Truth be told, the game wasn't that old--I picked it up very early within 2002, a mere six years after its release--but as a kid, the passage of time was akin to that of an eternity, so who could blame me?

Kirby Super Star was a secret I worshiped. This is not to say I kept the cartridge hidden away; indeed, despite its age, the game was quite popular among my friends, but it was what it meant to me I kept isolated from the outside world. At school, I made people laugh and smile and was perceived as the kid without a care in the world. At home, Super Star was waiting. Entering a world beyond our physical plane was as easy as sigh, and from there I traveled.

I was gradually entrenched within. I was there in the woods. The mellow forest was peppered with the tiniest cracks of sunlight, and the secluded terrain was populated only by the sounds of birds and cicadas. I was entranced by the abundance of bubbles and landmarks that surrounded me, and found myself swallowed into the forest's depths. My path took me to an isolated clearing, of which was occupied by a familiar sight: the ancient, abandoned playhouse that was just down the road from my cousin's house. I silently amused myself within, the dusty toys within serving as my new playmates. I stopped only when I reached for an old doll, and stared out the window into the bathing light beyond.

I was there in the save hut; the very first one found in the Great Cave Offensive. As I stared out the window into the colorful jungle, the building was slowly molded into that of a traditional Japanese household. I found myself seated in a room that's appearance vaguely echoed the trophy room in Melee, and I could smell the brewed tea on the table. I slowly rose up and walked over to the sliding door, pulling it aside to reveal that very same jungle. I sat perched on the patio, diving further within the confines of the jungle via the flexes of my mind.

I was there in the clouds. I bounced off the puffs of white mass one by one, and sprung forth into the deep blue. I studied the beanstalks inexplicably flourishing in the sky, climbing their green lengths ever higher. I made myself at home within the mysterious towers settled within the heavens, searching for their purpose. Was their purpose that of civilization, or of something deeper? I climbed up the pillars onto the red roofs and sat onto the crescent moons, observing the wide expanses that laid down before me.

I was there on the warship. I toured across its decks, slightly traced my palm across the troves of machinery littered throughout. As I endured a gust of warm air, I was suddenly made aware of the wide stretch of orange that enveloped the entire fortress. Not even a speck of land or starlight were dotted as far as the eye could see, as all was encompassed by a sunset template hosting a vast collection of clouds. I found myself falling within--a never-ending free fall that had me drifting in all directions--as I held on tight to a stray piece of a carrot-colored cloud, molding it into any shape I wished. We were two specks in a ceaseless space, tumbling and creating.

I was there in the stars. As I swam in the endless reaches of space, I gently gathered the multi-colored stardust sprinkled throughout. I crafted blankets and chairs, homes and vehicles, toys and books out of the unlimited material, pleased with all my handiwork. Any lone drifter of the stars was welcome in my abode, and were never a stranger to workings of my makeshift inventions. We pondered over the mysteries of our circumstances - how did we come here? What is the inspiration behind the reveries we encounter? Who are you?

I was there. If it was as simple as a field or as grand as a majestic cavern, I was there. For something as simple as a children's game, Kirby Super Star took my imagination and set it aflame with wonder. Of course, I found great excitement within its play mechanics as well, but it was this nostalgia, these reveries I always treasured most whenever I gave it a go--alone or with a friend--and it was the one factor I anticipated more than forming magical attacks or taking down warships.

Then, one day, Kirby jumped.

I still remember it well. One day, as I was spelunking within the depths of the Great Cave Offensive, I performed a mysterious jump. There was no apparent rhyme or reason to it; within the space of a second, Kirby had flashed white and leaped into the air, as it he had just bounced off a trampoline. It was accompanied by the most innocent of sounds, nothing that indicated the harsh passing of wind. While ultimately insignificant, there was no apparent button input that explain what had just happened, and I found myself captivated by it.

What was it?

Around the same time, I had been fostering many little secrets within the game. The reveries were one thing, but there hidden details that almost seemed deliberate, little touches that took effort to reach.You see the above shot? It's the end of the credits for the Spring Breeze, of which I'd let linger long after the sequence was complete. In the music theme's indefinite loop, it cycled the beginning portion three completely different times before settling onto the third as the permanent loop, and Kirby's smile echoed my own as I reveled in this hidden secret.

But it was the mysterious jump I held dearest. It was the one secret I had found to have no control over, and the one that I looked towards as proof Super Star knew my secret. In the rare occasion it would lift Kirby into the air, I saw it as a gentle reminder that I wasn't just some deluded boy seeing things that weren't there, but that it respected my reveries from the perspective that it brought new life into a game long since forgotten from the public consciousness, and so it regarded them as equally as sacred as I did.

Some years later, when I was no longer a dreaming boy but instead a brooding teenager, I eventually solved the riddle. If Kirby has created a partner character, he could use his friend's noggin as a sort of recovery, causing the unique jump to occur. Since required the input of pressing the Up Arrow on the directional pad, which was only used to climb ladders or enter door, it was no wonder I had overlooked it. I was astonished: I had just solved what I had deemed to be an unsolvable, distant childhood mystery, and suddenly the game came alive once more.

I then arrived at an epiphany: every single time I had made a new file, I always found something new. Every time I played through it, I'd always discover some out-of-the way location or a 1-up or something, and they continued the jump's legacy. The perfect example? The Candy Mountain level in Dynablade, where six years ago I found a hidden passage beneath the waterfall, providing a whole extra room to play within. This essence was even preserved in the DS remake, when I found yet another secret path within that very same level. It's there too in the original.

Every time I played Super Star, I keep thinking to myself it has to end at one point. Kirby Super Star is a rich side-scrolling game, but its own scope cannot match anything to the level of, say, an open-world RPG. That was a cold-hard fact and I always feared the day in which the game would eventually run dry, and yet I'd discover some secret room or something I had never stumbled upon before. Two years ago, on the anniversary of when I first purchased the game, I found nearly ten new things throughout, most notably when a fully-charged Beam attack will cause peripheral damage from behind Kirby.

I think back to my other young perception of nostalgia, the kind where I imagined young children who experienced games much I like did when they were first released. My mind reflects back to that same boy who marveled at the arena's silence in Kirby's Adventure, and experiences the same magic three years later in Kirby Super Star. He performs the same jumps, loses himself in those very same backgrounds, and finds those very same secrets. He looks out the window into the sky as the wondrous credits music plays, seeing those very same clouds and thinking how lucky he is to hold a euphoria that is all his own.

Even if I had flubbed the definition as a child, I looked to nostalgia as a form of idyllic state that was something to strive for. Rose-tinted glasses will never hide the fact that I struggled constantly within my childhood, from how my mental disabilities/ADD contributed to the difficulty of understanding various concepts to dealing with factors outside of my control (such as having all three of my best friends participate in a daily joint-class venture that would remove them from my classroom for half the day) and maybe I treasured it a form of healing. Much like how the gamer adults I observed on internet message boards, I looked to what I had around me, from the identification I had with Judy Blume's Super Fudge to the reveries found in Super Star and Earthbound and looked to the past as a way to celebrate my childhood now.

The irony is not lost on me, for the nostalgia I had fostered in my youth is now my nostalgia as a young adult. Much like the smell of an indigo Gamecube, it spurts up in quick, fleeting moments, and we say hello and goodbye just as quickly. Much of the impossible have already been figured out; in particular, remember that Spring Breeze credit song loop I mentioned earlier? That wasn't true; it just has one loop, just like every other song in the game. We could indeed chalk that matter up to the misunderstanding of an active imagination; however, I see things like this, and I can't help but believe.

Even today, I still fear that Kirby Super Star will run out of surprises, but so what if it does? That I can look to it for bringing a piece of my childhood alive each and every time is magic in itself, and much like the pink ball himself, I can continue to dream every time I play it.