That Glasses-Wearing Pig Can Go F*** Himself

The hardest, most challenging, most pain-in-the-ass-difficult game of 2010 was without a doubt Donkey Kong Country Returns.

Oh, the first few levels are peppy, brightly colored, old-school fun. Bananas fly everywhere, secrets practically reveal themselves. And the collectible K-O-N-G letters dangle like low hanging fruit.

But then things take a turn.

The cursing began for me probably around level three or four. The praying at level five. The despair at level six.

During each absurd jump in difficulty, I told myself, This won't last. I've played enough games over the years to know that developers typically include sharp difficulty spikes before giving way to breezier portions of the game. Yet each spike in difficulty in Donkey Kong Country Returns [DKCR] only led to subsequent, even steeper spikes in difficulty. In all my days, in all my years of enduring you've-got-to-be-kidding-me games, including every installment in the Ninja Gaiden series--which I adore, by the way--I have never been so emotionally, physically, and spiritually beaten down by a game the way that I was by DKCR.

Then, just when you think things can't possibly get any worse, a nude, glasses-wearing pig appears, waving a small, white flag in your direction. He is, of course, offering his "super guide" services. Which, from what I understand, consists of short how-to videos showing you how to do what you, according to the pig, cannot do. I looked at the super guide once and only once, in the name of research for this post. What happens is this: A white-haired version of Donkey Kong appears on the screen. Perhaps his hair has gone white from the sheer terror of the level he is about to demonstrate for you. He proceeds to do all the incredible things that need to be done--spectacular jumps, last-minute leaps, mine cart hops, enemy circumventing, etc. And then he vanishes--poof--as abruptly as he had arrived.

Now, Joe DiMaggio could rise from his grave, grab a bat and ball, and hit a 400-foot home run over the cemetery fence. "Good one!" I would say to the reanimated corpse of Joe DiMaggio. Yet that would bring me, personally, not one iota closer to possessing the ability to be able to hit a 400-foot home run. I could watch a video of an extremely smart person taking the SAT. Yes, he seems to be writing a lot, I would note. Yes, having a second sharpened pencil was a terrific idea. But watching the smart person would not improve my score on the SAT.

How merely watching White Donkey Kong do what you cannot do is supposed to help you, in a tangible way, is beyond me. Which leads me to believes that the super guide is included solely to make you feel even worse than you already do. Think you can't feel any worse right now? Super Guide says. Well, watch this video of an albino kong making it all look incredibly easy! See? Wasn't that helpful? It wasn't? Huh. That's strange. It was supposed to be helpful. But it wasn't helpful for you? Hrmm. Well, do you feel 10-percent worse about yourself after watching the super-guide video? You do? THEN MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!!!!!!

The one true way to survive the hell-on-earth experience of DKCR is not to view smarmy guides showing you how to do it. You must devote yourself to DKCR like a zen buddhist. You must forsake all worldly goods. You must end any current/on-going relationships with any women/men. You must draw the blinds, shut off your cellphone, forego personal hygiene (yes, you will grow a beard that will eventually make you resemble an Early Man exhibit from the Museum of Natural History), and laser focus all of your gaming powers on this single, solitary pursuit.

And even then, after all that, there's still a chance you might not make it.

I wantonly blew threw thousands of Kongs during my time with the game. I began referring to Donkey Kong Country Returns as "the one-up wood chipper." That's what it felt like some days: like I was simply feeding one-ups--Kong after Kong after Kong (after Kong)--into a buzz saw. Near the end, I wouldn't bother attempting a level unless I had more than 50 one-ups in the tank. Whenever I'd run low, I'd return to the game's early levels, "harvesting" bananas and collecting Koins to blow in Kranky Kong's stupid shop, all in the name of stocking up on one-ups.

Do I sound obsessed? Oh, I was.

And at least a small percentage of the blame for my obsession must be attributed to that flag-waving, f***-faced pig. I remember at point point, as I endured an especially trying stretch in the game, after yet another period of embarrassing failure, F*** Face showed up and frantically began waving his f*** flag at me. That is when I said the following words aloud, in my living room: "Eat shit, you piece of shit-eating shit."

Let me repeat that: "Eat shit, you piece of shit-eating shit."

Yes, DKCR inspired me to come up with that beautiful line of poetry (and countless others). Not since God of War's "would you like to change your difficulty setting to EASY" offer have I been so angered by a game's offer to help me, and by extension, so motivated to finish the game without any of the game's help at all.

I hauled the Wii to New York City with me over the holidays--I made room for it in my overstuffed suitcase--in the name of furthering my obsessive pursuit. Finishing the game, enduring the experience, had become the gaming equivalent of Ahab's white whale. I needed to see this journey to completion, no matter the cost to my well-being.

Yes, I finally finished Donkey Kong Country Returns. No, I didn't bother collecting the orbs in the bonus sadist levels. And by extension, no, I did not press on into the Golden Temple. Enough was enough. This game had already taken enough of my life away from me.

The game's final, brief cut-scene is one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Not because it is beautiful. At all. It is brief and efficient and largely unsurprising. It's beautiful because the final cinema, symbolically, meant that the experience was finally over. I'd spent so many hours, and so many Kongs, in this borderline-futile pursuit, thinking that this moment might never come, despairing in the truest sense of the word. And when it did finally arrive, I felt like a man stranded on a desert island, one who'd long given up hope of ever being rescued, who had just spotted a rescue boat on the horizon with a topless Cheryl Tiegs at the helm, waving her bra in my direction. In my metaphoric fantasy, I would fall to my knees on the beach, tears streaming into my unkempt desert-island beard, thinking, "It's over. It's finally over."

I finished DKCR, but I can't explain exactly why I finished DKCR. Why did I expend all of this energy? Why did I subject myself to such--there's no other word for it--punishment? How did I become so obsessed? Why, frankly, did I bother at all?

It's hard to say.

Sometimes games come along and get under my skin, and stay under my skin, in a way that catches me off guard. Part of it, no doubt, is my allegiance to Rare's original on the Super Nintendo. I played the living shit out of that game for years, finishing it multiple times. So, a small percentage of my unhealthy pursuit can be attributed to pure nostalgia, to hearing those old songs again (what a soundtrack in this game!), to rocketing around in barrels, and to seeing characters again that I've been fond of for nearly 20 years now.

But a larger percentage, if I'm going to be completely honest, is that I sort of began to enjoy the sheer masochism of it all. I saw Danny Boyle's 127 Hours recently, which was alright, but wasn't the gut-wrenching, transcendent experience people had promised me it would be. I've never understood those people who are into climbing mountains and engaging in "extreme" pursuits, and as a result, I never have any sympathy for the people who, for example, die on Everest. You had a good idea of what you were getting into up there, folks. I have friends who are climbing Kilimanjaro next month. I've told them both, point blank, that if I have to go up there to claim their skeletons I will be beyond pissed off.

Maybe games like DKCR, in some ways, are small-scale versions of extreme pursuits. It's simply fun and satisfying to occasionally do something, to subject yourself to something, that most people can't do, or won't bother to do.

I admit, I did feel a little depressed after DKCR went back on the shelf. I moved on to Super Mario Galaxy 2, which I'm currently trying to complete. I'm at 70 Power Stars and counting. I've been a bit disappointed--in comparison to DKCR--by how easy it is. It's not an easy game by any means. Yet each time I locate a new Power Star these days, I think, So that's it?

I miss having my dexterity and, beyond that, my patience pushed to the limit. Stranger still, I've come to realize that I miss the despair of it all. Or maybe that's not quite right. It's not the despair that I miss. What I miss is the extreme degree of unadulterated, heart-squeezing elation I'd experience whenever I would do something as simple as making it to a subsequent checkpoint, or in extreme cases in the final levels of the game, simply making it through two or three seemingly impossible jumps.

I'd get there, arriving at a destination I thought I'd never arrive at, palms sweating, knees shaking, and I'd think: Now that's entertainment.

All of which can only mean one thing: that I have an upcoming date with the notorious Demon's Souls.

Cheryl Tiegs Rescue Boat: Looks like I'll be seeing you again, real soon.

The 10 Best Games of 2010 (5 Thru 1)

OK, you jackals, here are the rest of my You-Like-What-You-Like picks for 2010. Feel free to chime in with your personal picks, recommendations, and/or hate mail below. [Missed the first entry? Too lazy today to scroll down a few pages? Click here to view my 10 through six picks.]

One more point I'd like to make before I continue: These games are not necessarily perfect 10's. In fact, every game in my like-what-I-like list is flawed in some significant way. Perfection isn't a part of the like list. The like list is simply about the games that I wound up investing the most time into in 2010.

Anyway, let the grousing begin!

5. Rage of the Gladiator (WiiWare, Ghostfire Games, Wii)

The only thing I love more than Nintendo's Punch-Out!! series is a good Punch-Out!! clone. Which is exactly what Rage of the Gladiator is. Instead of the spunky Little Mac, the game stars an up-and-coming warrior named Prince Gracius. There are some cutscenes that explain exactly who Prince Gracius is and why he is fighting. But I usually can't skip through them fast enough. All I want to do is return to the arena/ring and dole out more ass-beatings.

The game features 10 opponents of various sizes and shapes. Once you've defeated all 10 enemies, Challenge Mode is unlocked in which you re-fight everyone a second time, only this time each opponent has new powers. There is a final (final) boss who you battle only after getting all the way through Challenge Mode. It's a pain in the ass to get to him--or should I say "it"?--but trust me when I tell you that it's worth the effort.

You can customize your attacks thanks to an RPG-like skill tree. But what really sells the game for me is the playful spirit of the whole operation. It's even more playful than Next Level's Punch-Out!! do-over was last year, which is really saying something, since that game was pretty playful. Fighting ogres and ninjas and lions who have dual snakes growing out of their backs is fun, but when those creatures transform into--well, let's just say most of your opponents transform into something else after you've knocked them down twice--is the exact moment when Rage of the Gladiator becomes far more than a Punch-Out!! clone.

4. Super Mario Galaxy 2 (Nintendo, Nintendo, Wii)

Wondering why you've never played Super Mario 65? The answer is this: Nintendo normally does not do sequels. And it certainly never does sequels on the same console. Here's an exception. The level-design geniuses at Nintendo had obviously worked up a head of steam after finishing the first Super Mario Galaxy. The result: this masterwork, which somehow, some way turns out to be even better than the perfectly awesome first game. Sure, spotlight hog Yoshi is the big selling point for the sequel--he practically takes up the entire box cover for SMG 2. (He's far bigger than Mario is.) But it's the game's crafted platforming that's the real star of the show here.

"Crafted" is the right word. There isn't one element of this game that feels slapped together and hustled out the door. Every jump, every flip switch, every Goomba, every boss fight feels considered, honed, perfected. But this platforming heaven, thanks to the steep difficulty level, occasionally turns into a hell. I say: stick with it. The sense of satisfaction you feel after completing an especially challenging level will stay with you long after you've powered off the Wii.

3. Kirby's Epic Yarn (Nintendo, HAL Laboratory, Wii)

From crafted, we move to craft-y. My mom was a big sewer when I was a kid. She had tins filled with all sorts of odd buttons. The racket of her sewing machine ruined many episodes of The Brady Bunch for me. Which no doubt explains at least some of the primal appeal that Kirby's Epic Yarn has for me.

The game is constructed entirely of different fabrics, yarn, and thread, as if the whole thing was literally woven together. It's that tactile quality--the want-to-touch-it quality--that really drew me into the game, and helped me conquer the semi-rotten first impression the game made on me. Yes, the game makes a terrible first impression, thanks to all the cutesy bullshit I had to endure at the start.

Yin-Yarn, Fluff, and and Metamato--all characters from the game--are overly sweet. But it's the cloying voice work of the narrator that really made me want to throw up on my shoes. Thankfully, he goes away fairly quickly, and I was able to get down to some old-school, two-dimensional platforming goodness.

It's not nearly as challenging, or as satisfying, as Super Mario Galaxy 2. But Kirby's Epic Yarn turns out to be far more charming and addictive. Like the stop-motion Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer that airs each year, Kirby's Epic Yarn has the stuff to become an annual holiday staple. There's just something about the game that will always feel like Christmas to me. And for that, HAL Laboratory and Nintendo, I salute you.

2. Dead Rising 2 (Capcom, Capcom Vancouver/Blue Castle Games, 360, PS3)

The first Dead Rising is one of my personal all-time favorites. Yes, it's a well-established fact that I am a complete sucker for zombies. But in addition to awesome zombies, Dead Rising had a terrific sense of place. The Willamette Mall will forever be as real to me as the Shoppingtown Mall, in Syracuse, New York, is.

If you've scanned ahead, then you know that Red Dead Redemption is not on the list. Sorry, RDR, fans. The reason RDR is not on the list is illustrated perfectly by Dead Rising 2. Red Dead Redemption, which also had a terrific sense of place, was too sprawling, too repetitive, and just plain too boring for me. Dead Rising 2 never felt too big, never overwhelmed me with its scope, and never made me do anything that felt like a waste of my time. Everything I did in Dead Rising 2, whether I was saving survivors or finding a store with a steady supply of chainsaws in stock, always felt purposeful, and essential and dramatic.

One more thing: If you're on the fence about committing to the $59.99 full game, download Case Zero first for $5 and see if its for you. Case Zero is the best damn game demo I've ever played, bar none, and it's a great introduction to the rest of the experience.

1. Limbo (Microsoft, Playdead Studios, 360)

No game has gotten under my skin, and stayed there--not ever--the way that Limbo did this year. From the creepy opening screens--which make you feel like you're about to watch a low budget horror movie--to the minimalist art design, this game is the embodiment of the phrase "and now for something completely different."

What makes Limbo so remarkable is how well it adheres to the show-don't-tell adage. It never beats you over the head with exposition, the way that games like Epic Mickey and Red Dead do. It slowly, and confidently, pulls you deeper into this strange world, never over explaining anything, always trusting you--the gamer--to be smart enough, and curious enough, to figure things out on your own.

Best of all, the game generates a sense wonder like no other game I have ever played. Even now, months after I played it, I constantly think about the things I saw in Limbo, and the experiences I had there. No, I can't explain the ending. No, you will not walk away from Limbo feeling satisfied. It never lets you exhale--that final, cathartic exhale--the way that we expected games to let us exhale. That's what makes it so brilliant, and so special, the way that it slyly flouts convention. It's short--you can get through it in a night or two--but not since Portal has a gotten into my subconscious and dwelled there the way that this game has.

Buy it. Play it. Love it.

Anyway, here's to a terrific 2010--one of the best years I can ever remember for gaming. And here's to an even better 2011. As Vic and I often say to each other, "We live in a golden age." Never was it more true than it was this year.